


Into That Good Night

by EllanaSan



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book/Movie 2: Catching Fire, Canon-Typical Violence, Catching Fire AU, F/M, Haymitch Abernathy in the 75th Hunger Games, Smut, That's it, Thirteen gives up on the rebellion, because coin is a selfish cow, come knowing everything can happen, from violence to death, haymitch centric, if you don't like haymitch this isn't the rights story for you, it's warning enough, might as well add that tag, not kidding on the angst thing, that's the plot, the cat is out of the bag now, this is a haymitch centric story, this is the hunger games, what happens then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 198,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: “Thirteen’s out.”The whiskey Haymitch had been quietly savoring in his corner of the ballroom went down the wrong pipe and he almost choked on it.





	1. Devil Take The Hindmost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ! Did you miss me ? 
> 
> So Invictus is over but let me invite you to a new Friday appointment! The title from this story comes from Dylan Thomas’ poem which I strongly invite you to check. I will also take this opportunity to thank Akachankami who, once again, rises up to the role of a beta! 
> 
> More about the story itself… Well, by now you will have read the summary… This is a canon AU exploring the idea of Thirteen getting out of the rebellion before it can really start, which means it’s a sort of CF AU. 
> 
> This story will be Haymitch centric – although of course that includes hayffie is that even a question – and it will be long. I’m not telling you how many chapters because this way you know it can stop at any moment and I’m cruel with the angst XD Rest assure I am close to finishing it so it won’t be left hanging as a WIP whatever happens. (I finished Invictus, give me some credits haha!)
> 
> Speaking of angst, I didn’t nickname this “the angst story” for nothing so… beware, the angst is there. There will also be smut (graphic at times even if I’m no good at it, what can I say hayffie have their way of making me write it). I want it said outright that this is a Hunger Games story and that, as such, it comes with its own warning. There will be violence, there will be blood, there will be talks of prostitution and there might be deaths. This is your warning :p (but mostly if you read my other stuff, you know what to expect)
> 
> I’m really excited to start sharing this story and I really hope you will give it a chance and like it! Let me know!

“Thirteen’s out.”

The whiskey Haymitch had been quietly savoring in his corner of the ballroom went down the wrong pipe and he almost choked on it. He coughed it out, sparing a glare for Cinna when the stylist brutally slapped his back.

“What do you mean _Thirteen’s out_?” he spat, taking pain to keep his voice _low_ , between two coughing fits. “The _fuck_ does that _mean_ , Cinna?”

“I haven’t got a clue.” the stylist hissed, running a nervous hand in his hair. “I’m guessing Coin and Snow made some sort of deal. Thirteen had always been out for itself and now…”

The Capitol man was pacing back and forth… Back and forth…

Haymitch glanced around the ballroom, they were attracting too much attention. His coughing and Cinna’s erratic behavior… He caught Effie’s eyes at the other end of the room, all smiles and cheerfulness for the gaggle of people gathered at the Presidential Mansion for the end of the Tour… It had never taken much for them to be able to communicate in silence, she kept her act but she was clearly worried about what was going on in their corner. Around them, people were whispering…

They couldn’t afford to make a scene. Not now. Not if there was any hope of salvaging this.

Not that there _was_ any hope of  salvaging this.

If what Cinna was saying was true…

If Thirteen had tossed them to the wolves…

“Calm down.” he snapped, low but harsh. “The _fuck_ does that mean?”

“It means we’re on our own.” Cinna said and, suddenly, it was like all fight had left him. He stopped pacing to stare back at Haymitch, looking hollow and hopeless. “It means… It means we’re back to square one. Nothing is going to happen. The Games will go on and…” The stylist shook his head. “It was all for nothing.”

Haymitch’s eyes automatically darted to the kids dancing in the middle of the room, the kids everyone was fawning over – the kids who were _both_ _breathing_.

“Not for _nothing,_ no.” he scoffed bitterly. But it was always the same, wasn’t it? Victors were expendable. Always. A prop for the powerful to wave around. He had never really trusted Coin and he had never really believed in the potential success of a rebellion, it was more than his experienced pessimistic self could believe in, but… He had wanted to _hope_. So badly. His own _fucking_ mistake. He should have known better. “What does Heavensbee say?”

“Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost.” Cinna quoted, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “He wants to try and save his head. He doesn’t want any more contact with us.”

That sounded like Plutarch. The Head Gamemaker had been ready to do the right thing as long as it benefited him. He wasn’t a bad man but…

 _Capitols_.

Finding the decent ones was becoming more and more complicated.

“He’s gonna manage it too.” Haymitch snorted, rubbing his eyes. Plutarch had a gift for falling on his own two feet. Like a cat. He would sell them all for his own skin or he would pretend he had been working for Snow all along. He would find a trick. A loophole. And he wouldn’t look back. It might keep him awake at night for a while but being awake at night meant he was alive and Haymitch was too much of a survivor not to understand why the Capitol would take that option over ending up stringed up somewhere like Seneca Crane. “The kids?”

“Without Thirteen behind them, they’re not much of a threat. And they don’t know anything.” the stylist hesitated. “I think _they_ are in the clear.”

It was already something,  he mused. The rebellion… The rebellion had been a sweet dream: a free Panem, the possibility of a future, no more dead children… But his priority, his number one priority, had _always_ been the kids.  To get them out of the troubles he had pushed them in.

He was the one who had started the star-crossed lovers story and he would bear that responsibility. He would take the blame and shoulder the punishment that would follow. He would shield them to the last if he could.

“I’m guessing _we_ ’re not.” he commented, not even remotely hopeful on that front. He wasn’t sure it was such a bad thing. He was tired. Tired of those games, tired of those hopeless hopes, tired of broken promises and loss… 

Without really meaning to, he searched the room for President Snow. He wasn’t quite surprised to find that the man was studying him while some assiduous Capitols were courting him. The man toasted him with his flute of champagne, a smug smile on his lips, and it was all he could do _not_ to cross the room and punch the man in the face.

He toasted him right back with his half empty glass and a sneer.

It seemed to amuse Snow to no end.

 _Bastard_.

Cinna spotted the move and let out a deep sigh. “I can’t _believe_ they did that. I can’t believe they betrayed us.”

He felt sorry for the stylist. Cinna was dedicated to the cause, a true idealist, ready to burn for his beliefs. Haymitch had always been a tad uneasy with the martyr tendencies he could detect in his friend, now he wished he was the same. Maybe there was some comfort to find in death if you knew you were dying for something _bigger_.

Haymitch was an opportunist, not an idealist.

He had seen a way to save his kids and end the Games all at once and he had jumped on it.

He should have known better than trust Plutarch’s words, Cinna’s big speeches and Coin’s double face.

He should have listened to his guts when they had screamed at him not to believe a word that woman was saying. 

“Wish I could say the same.” he muttered.

°O°O°O°

He had only been alone in his compartment for two minutes when the door opened and closed quietly.

“What is going on?”

Haymitch was almost impressed Effie had held on for so long.

She had kept searching for his gaze all night and he had kept avoiding her eyes. Even when time had come to herd the team back to the train so they would be in time for the final Banquet in Twelve the next day, even when she had looped her arm around his and playfully bumped his shoulder with hers… He had remained detached, not quite answering her unspoken question. She had seemed to understand. The kids first, dealing with potential problems later.

He had known he wouldn’t be able to avoid that conversation forever though.

It had been in the air ever since they had won the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, ever since the berries and the cloud that had kept raining on their parade. He had made the choice to keep her out of the loop but she was clever and there was no way she hadn’t picked up on what was going on. _Had been_ going on.

The retributions the Districts would suffer for the unrest…

He busied himself by taking off his cufflinks, listening to the train taking speed, chasing those thoughts from his mind. There was nothing he could do about that now. If the Districts tried to revolt without Thirteen’s bulk at their side… It would all calm down, he figured. It wasn’t the first time Panem was unsettled and it wouldn’t be the last. With time and a show of strength from Snow…

Not that he expected to still be around to see that.

He didn’t know if he was surprised or not by the fact they had gotten out of the Capitol without being stopped. He had kept waiting for Peacekeepers to appear… Instead, the security team that had escorted them back to the train had been lighter than anything they had been allowed on the Tour.

He wasn’t stupid enough to take it as a good sign.

It was a message and a clear one at that: they weren’t a threat anymore.

“Haymitch.”

He let out a deep breath and turned toward his obviously worried escort.

She looked ridiculous.

The blue dress, the blue wig, the make-up…. He didn’t know how he could still feel himself twitch at the sight of her.

“It’s over.” he shrugged.

She frowned, confused by that cryptic answer.

“Do you mean the Tour?” she asked, a touch of apprehension in her voice.

For a second, he almost said _‘us’_ because it would have been the smart choice… But it was too little too late now. He was pretty sure she had never done anything warranting suspicion. If they were lucky… If _she_ was lucky she would make it through.

He was glad for the distance he had insisted on keeping now, even if it had hurt her at times, even if she had resented it… Keeping the affair casual had been the right choice. Insisting it was nothing but sex… _Convincing himself_ it was nothing but sex…

“Sure.” he said flatly. “What else?”

“You and Cinna looked agitated earlier.” she insisted. “If there is something I should know…”

“No.” he cut her off, taking a step closer to her. He hoped there were bugs and they were picking this up. He _hoped_ because… He would be damned if she became a victim of his own stupidity. “Nothing you should know.”

Her frown deepened and she opened her mouth again, probably to call him out on his lies. He kissed her before she could say anything. It was a hungry kiss, the better to distract her. His tongue invaded her mouth without her invitation but she resisted only for a moment before giving in, completely surrendering to it, to _him_. 

Her wig was sticky with hairspray yet he persevered until it loosened. He tossed it aside, still kissing her. His fingers found the zipper of her dress easily and it flopped to the floor too, without either of them trying to keep it in place.

She was quick with her fingers and he soon found himself bare-chested. Her mouth roamed down his throat to his collarbone… He groaned when she bit down on it, hard enough to let him know she wasn’t buying his deflections.

He fumbled with his belt, scooping her up as soon as the pants slid down his legs. He stepped out of them and got rid of his underwear while he was at it. 

The bed was right there but he pinned her against the wall instead, propping her up until she locked her legs around his waist. They were brutal and rough, _in a hurry_ to reach their release…

Habits died hard.

Her nails scratched at his back when his mouth explored the familiar hollow of her throat, traveled down to her breasts… He sucked one of her nipples in his mouth, nibbled on it just enough to get a whimper out of her… Her hips buckled and she framed his face in her hands to draw him in a dirty kiss. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard…

“Take me.” she demanded in his ear, all sweet and husky at the same time.

He felt his blood rush down, the familiar thrill of lust she always managed to entice…

Her panties were in the way but that had never been a problem. They were all lace and frills and he simply pushed them aside. He felt her legs clench around his waist when he lined himself up with her and she let out a mewl of pleasure when he buried himself in her in one powerful thrust.

The small noises she was making only increased when he started moving.

They were making a racket, a part of his mind warned. She wasn’t keeping her voice in check and every time his hips slammed down she hit the wall so hard one of the framed paintings kept shaking. Her nails were digging hard at the back of his nape, the sweat made the scratches sting unpleasantly.

She slipped her hand between their bodies, her eyes were closed, her lips parted…

She came with a raw strangled cry and slumped a little on him, _pliant_ … After a couple of seconds, her nails released his flesh and she wrapped her arms around his neck in a parody of a hug. She whispered sweet-nothing, encouragements, filthy things nobody would have ever bet she even knew about because she was Effie Trinket and Effie Trinket was a proper lady…  

He chased after his pleasure but it was evading him.

The more brutally he fucked her, the further away it went.

He gave up after a couple of minutes and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

She was uneasy, he knew, not quite sure how to act because that had never happened before and they were on uncharted territory. She slowly nuzzled the side of his neck with her nose, her nails trailing down his nape and his shoulder blade, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” she asked in a purr.

He considered it, certain that if she kneeled down for him and put her mouth down there, he would come without any problem.

But he didn’t think it was really about that.

“No.” he muttered. “Not tonight.”

He grabbed her under the ass and stepped away from the wall. She was puzzled, he could tell, but she grabbed his shoulders and let him carry her to the bed. He was gentle when he laid her down and it only confused her further because he would usually have tossed her or dropped her or…

He slowly slipped her panties off.

She instinctively parted her legs when he kneeled in front of her and he dropped kisses from her knee up her thigh to her stomach. He knew her body as well as he knew his own by that point but he never got tired of charting it, of mapping the freckles and the beauty spots.

By the time his mouth and tongue made their way to her breasts, she was getting worked up again. Her breath was short and her eyes clouded. His fingers danced on her shoulders and down her arms… She tossed them over her head, on the pillow… Usually he would have grabbed her wrists, right then he simply caressed the soft skin until he found her hands.

He was careful when he entered her and her responding gasp was shaky.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone. She tightened her grip on his hands and when she opened her eyes again, they were bright with tears. He didn’t avert his gaze when he started moving.

They had never done that.

In ten years of their affair, they had never done that.

They had _fucked_ in every possible way and then some.

They had never _made love_.

And it probably told her more about the situation they were in than everything he wasn’t saying.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and he caught them with his tongue.

She came with his name on her lips and he followed her over the edge.

It wasn’t the best climax he had ever had but it was probably the most meaningful. He tried to roll away but she wouldn’t let him so he remained there, inside her, his body heavy on hers.

If she had questions, she didn’t ask them.

Eventually, she let him slid to the side and gather her in his arms, not bothering to get under the sheets. He rummaged under the pillow for his knife and tossed it away as a precaution he knew wouldn’t be necessary. His mind was restless and he wouldn’t fall asleep that night.

She didn’t get any rest either.

She curled up as close to him as she could, a small ball of a woman against his side, her knees propped against his hip, strangely vulnerable. At some point, he buried his nose in her hair and he closed his eyes, breathed her in, tried to commit the moment to memory.

He would need something good to think about when Snow would strike.


	2. Too Slow To Catch Up

The Banquet in Twelve was pitiful.

Undersee had done his best but it was supposed to be the _fabulous_ ending to a _fabulous_ Tour and Haymitch could tell it wasn’t cutting it. And yet there was already much more food than they could afford to lose and someone would miss it, probably in the Seam where people were starving in the streets.

He lurked in the corners, doing his best to stay out of the path of the Mayor’s wife. He didn’t need the ghost of Maysilee staring at him and he was pretty sure the woman didn’t want to see him either.

Katniss, at least, looked happy to be reunited with her friend Madge.

It would have helped if the teenager hadn’t been the spitting image of her aunt at the same age.

Effie was running around with a smile perpetually glued to her face, trying to make sure the camera crew got every good angle and didn’t show how meager the feast actually was. People were encouraged to smile, the kids were reminded to look _a little bit more_ like an engaged couple – and to mind their manners – and it took Portia thrusting a glass of mead in her hand for her to actually relax for a second.

When Cinna sneaked outside of the Justice Building, Haymitch followed.

The cold was almost shocking after the weeks spent on the train and in the much nicer western weather but it was also welcomed. Winter was harsh, it had always been so, less food to find in the woods… But it had always been Haymitch’s favorite season. No Reaping, no Capitol… Snow crunched under his boots, a familiar noise. A friendly one.

He could barely make out the stylist’s figure in the shadow of the great building. There were no street lamps in Twelve and the night was dark in those parts of the country. He was uneasy in the darkness, had been since his Games. Dread and anxiety twisted his guts but he forced himself to ignore the feelings knowing it was simply the darkness pulling tricks on him.

There was no Peacekeeper in sight for once – for the first time since the beginning of the Tour probably – and he breathed in the familiar smell of the District with some relief. It smelt like _home_. The smell of coal dust wasn’t as present in town as it was in the Seam. In the Village, he could hardly guess at it unless the wind was blowing his way. Coal dust had been unavoidable in his childhood. Some mornings, it had covered his clothes and his hair as he had walked to school, due to the proximity of the mine… Half the people who worked there died of the cough.   

Something else he had hoped to change.

_Foolish_.

“Would you care for one?” The stylist offered him a golden case full with neatly aligned cigarettes. It was Effie’s poison and he didn’t like it but he took one all the same, waiting until Cinna had lit it to take a deep breath. It wasn’t the same brand she used and it didn’t bring him the comfort he had hoped for. The Capitol placed the case back in his inner pocket before speaking again. “They won’t take us all out at the same time. It would be suspicious.”

“Figured.” he nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette.

He felt detached. A part of him was still in his compartment, on the train, safe in Effie’s arms. That was where he wanted to stay, he realized.

_Too late_.

Always too late.

He should leave a note somewhere for them to carve that on his tombstone: _Haymitch Abernathy, missed everything good in life because he was always too slow to catch up._

He let out a chuckle at his own idiocy and Cinna shot him a strange look. He waved a dismissive hand to tell his friend it was nothing.

It didn’t really register that they were talking about their probable murder.

It wasn’t difficult to guess how _he_ would go, he supposed. Alcohol poisoning wasn’t that complicated to fix and nobody would question it. There were worse ways to die. _Unless_ they poisoned him first and made it look like alcohol poisoning later.

He studied the glow of his cigarette, the only dot of light in his immediate surroundings, and he licked his lips.

“You think Effie’s off the hook?” he asked, his voice rough.

He hadn’t wanted to. He was giving more away with that question than was prudent.

Trust was a luxury now.

Even Cinna, whom he had come to consider a friend…

Heavensbee would sell them all out if it wasn’t already done, he was certain of that, and he didn’t know if the stylist would be offered the same deal. Probably not. If Thirteen had really bailed out, Snow already knew everything he wanted to by now. And even if it wasn’t the case… Cinna was too upright to take any deal. But you _never_ knew. No one was untouchable. There were always pressure points. There was always something you never knew you cared about until it was ripped from you.

_He_ should know.

“She didn’t have any part in it.” Cinna shook his head. “And she has never given anyone cause to doubt her loyalties. I don’t think you should worry about her.” He sighed. “I wish I hadn’t brought Portia in. She… I don’t think I can save her.”

“You could run.” he suggested, flicking ash to the side.

“You could too.” the stylist pointed out.

“Nowhere to run to.” he shrugged. _And nobody to run with._ The kids were there so there he would stay. He would protect them until he couldn’t anymore. That was his job.

But if he had been Cinna… And if Portia had been Effie…

He would have taken his chances where he could have taken them.

“I’m not scared of death.” Cinna declared.

“Maybe ‘cause you never had to watch him in the eyes.” he snorted, his mind flashing to a jungle where everything was deceptively beautiful and where everything had been a trap. But what would a Capitol understand about that? Even a good man like Cinna… There was no understanding what it was to fear death, your own and your loved ones’, until you had lived through it. Haymitch had lived with it all his life, he hardly knew anything else. Even after his Games… The fear had chased him in his nightmares. The will to live, to _survive_ , too strong for him to entertain any thought of ending it. He despised himself for having survived it all – for having survived _them all_ – but he would have despised himself even more if he had given up on that thirst for life. Even if what he had could barely be called that. “He’s gonna let us stew a little, you know. It’s punishment not… _prevention._ ”

The Capitol didn’t have anything to fear from them anymore and he knew how Snow liked his mind games. He doubted either of them was going to kick the bucket the following day. No… The President would give them time to worry about it first. And the moment they would let their guard down just a little…

“Do you think we will ever win?” Cinna asked, sounding desperate. “Do you think one day… The Games will be over? Panem will be free?”

He leaned against the stone of the building, taking a long drag of his cigarette. He didn’t answer the question.

He had no answer to give.

They smoked in silence until they couldn’t put off going back inside anymore.

Effie immediately made a beeline for him, all ruffled feathers because he wasn’t supposed to disappear like that and leave her alone to deal with everything. Like she hadn’t always been the one to shoulder everything in all the years they had worked together… But he figured appearances still had to be maintained and his place was, for all it mattered, at her side. That was the comedy they had to sell the world. Mentor and escort looking proudly at their newest victors.

She frowned when she smelled his breath.

“You smoked.” she accused. She fished a mint from her clutch and he took it without argument. “Haymitch…”

Her mask shattered for a second, letting him know just how worried she was. She recovered quickly enough but he saw it. He never smoked unless _she_ was and he had no liquor to partake in – to each their own poison but they shared sometimes. He hated it and she knew that.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” he promised, forcing a smirk that must have looked very fake because she stared hard at him. He had to nudge her and to remind her that she needed to keep an eye on things for her to leave him alone.

Soon, _too soon_ , it was time for them to go home and for the Capitol team to go back to the train. The moment the cameras were turned off, everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Effie immediately wrapped the children in a bear hug, providing a thousand of unnecessary and unwanted advices.

Portia briefly hugged him, all smiles. She looked so casual and free from worry that he supposed Cinna had yet to inform her of the latest developments.

He shook Cinna’s hand. No words passed between them. Everything had been said and anything more would feel hollow and redundant. 

It was noisy in the Justice Building hall. Everyone was talking at once, the crew and the prep teams were congratulating each other on a job well done, Undersee was going from group of people to group of people to give out handshakes…

Finally, Effie let go of the children to turn to him – he had purposefully hung at the back of the room, where they would have the most privacy, but she didn’t call him out on that. She pursed her lips and fixed his crooked tie as if it was the most important thing in the world.

Her fingers lingered against his throat in something that wasn’t quite a caress.

“I took the liberty of having your phone fixed while we were in the city.” she told him casually. “I suggest you _answer_ it so we can start organizing this wedding.”

The cheer in her voice was forced, her voice loud to satisfy any eavesdropper. She was so good at this game… She _would_ be alright, he decided, she was too good to be caught being anything but a loyal little Capitol drone. She was clever that way.

And he had never thought he would be that happy about it.

“Sure.” he shrugged.

For the second time that night, his easy compliance seemed to trigger alarm bells in her head.

She studied him for a second but he kept his features schooled in casual detachment and, in the end, she simply placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed a goodbye kiss to his cheek. Her lips, too, lingered.

“I will call you soon.” she promised. “Do not be a stranger.”

She turned away and he was struck by the thought he would probably never see her again.

This was the last time.

This was the last conversation they would have face to face.

This was… 

He grabbed her wrist before she could get away and tugged her back to him, catching her in an awkward hug. Nobody was really paying attention to them and, if they did, his behavior could easily have been explained by an excess of liquor. He was affectionate when drunk and everybody in that room knew that.

_She_ knew he wasn’t drunk though.

His breath was short and a bit rocky. He held her tight, tighter than he had ever hold her, tight enough that he was probably crushing her. He lost himself in her smell for a second, the heavy perfume mixed with hairspray and the cosmetic powder… That was her escort’s smell. When she was naked in his bed, bare from her armor… She smelt like the fruity shampoo she used and that unique scent that was _hers_. Both were intoxicating to him. Both were _hers_.

She clung to his shoulders like she was drowning, her sharp nails digging into his flesh through the heavy fabric of his jacket. He welcomed the small familiar pain. The scratches on his back would disappear in a day or two and he would have nothing to remember her by.

The hug was too intense.

There was a lump in his throat and a tension in the air…

“You are scaring me.” she whispered.

He closed his eyes briefly, aware that they didn’t have much time, that he would have to let her go soon or trigger an attention he didn’t want.

“You made me happy.” he mumbled in her ear. “At times. You made me happy.” She let out a sharp breath as if something had hit her straight in the chest. He didn’t give her time to recover. He wanted it said. Selfishly, he wanted it _said_. It might not sound like much what he was offering – _at times_ wasn’t the most romantic thing someone had said to her probably but it was the truth and, for him, it was _a lot_. For a long time, he hadn’t thought he would even have a _at times_ sort of happiness. He had been too stupid to see it before and maybe it was for the best but maybe… “Be happy, you _deserve_ that. You find someone good, don’t settle for a rich old guy. You find someone worthy and… _Be happy_. You do that for me, yeah?”

Her whole body tensed in his arms. She stopped breathing.

And then her nails left his shoulder to stab his nape as she drew back a little to look at him straight in the eyes.

“You _stupid_ man, what have you done?” she hissed.

“The right thing.” he scoffed, low enough that it wouldn’t carry. “At least, I tried to. Should have known better, really.” He sighed. “Just… Remember what I said. Forget about me. Move on. Be happy.”

He stepped back before she could say anything else but she didn’t move, she didn’t resume her act.

She stood there and stared helplessly at him, her eyes shiny.

That was the definitive sort of goodbyes and, despite how worried she had been looking since the previous night, he could tell she hadn’t been expecting it.

And it left her terrified.

He was a little terrified too under the bravado.

He had never thought it would be so difficult to accept he wouldn’t see her again.

“Perhaps I can help.” she insisted.

“No.” He instinctively grabbed her arm then glanced around and let go. Peeta was looking at them but the boy quickly averted his eyes when Haymitch caught him. He was too far to hear anything anyway. “I want you as far from this one as you can get, yeah? You want to do something for me, you stay safe. _Swear it_. I’m serious, Effie.”

Her lips wobbled but he didn’t make the mistake of touching her again. They stared straight at each other until she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and collected herself. Once she looked the part of the bright and bubbly escort again, she faked a confident smile.

She was smart. A bit reckless when it was about people she loved but, ultimately, she was smart. He trusted her to know a lost battle – a lost _war_ , really.

“I swear.” she said, her voice breaking a little, in total contrast with her general attitude. “I will call you soon.”

“You do that, sweetheart.” he smirked.

The tension slowly left his shoulders with the certainly she wouldn’t put herself unnecessarily in danger.

He wished he could kiss her.

They had never really done that before, kiss each other goodbye…

Maybe they should have.

Maybe there were other things they should have done too, things they should have said…

Then again, maybe it was better this way. Not less painful but… cleaner.


	3. Deader And Emptier

The ringing of the phone was unwelcomed in the deadly silence of his house.

He jumped in a sitting position on the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The hangover too. His fingers had remained clenched around the neck of the bottle during his nap and it was almost painful to let go now.

The sun was up, dust danced in the light that was spilling through the window. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, he had drunk a lot.

He hadn’t lit a fire the previous night and it was freezing. He grabbed a dirty woolen blanket eaten by moths that had been in his living-room for as long as he could remember and wrapped it around his shoulders. His head was pounding and it took him a few seconds to remember he was supposed to answer the phone if he wanted the upsetting noise to stop.

He stepped on the tie he had discarded as soon as he had been home the previous night and almost tripped on the bag he had tossed in the hallway.

“Yeah.” he grumbled when he finally managed to reach the phone.

“ _What took you so long?”_ Effie exclaimed, reproachful.

He rolled his eyes and stumbled closer to the kitchen’s table. It was as cluttered as it had been when he had left and he wrinkled his nose at the smell. He figured he wouldn’t escape some cleaning up that day. The dishes were weeks old and he was pretty sure there was some rotten stuff around. There were also not quite empty bottles though. He grabbed an uncorked one and took a gulp, wincing at the taste of dust on his tongue.

“You’ve been gone what… Twelve hours?” he snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re already missing me, sweetheart.”

_“Are you mocking me?”_ she growled. “ _I thought…”_ She stopped, probably wary of what she could say or not on the phone in case someone was listening – and they _were_ listening more likely than not. _“It is customary to call a friend to tell them one has safely arrived home after a trip_.”

He smirked at her lecturing tone, feeling fondness rather than annoyance at her quirks. Something was wrong with him probably.

He also saw clear through the pretense. She had been scared something had happened to him already.

“Should have asked for a cleaning crew to go over my house when you had my phone repaired, sweetheart.” he commented.

_“Is it_ that _bad?”_ she asked, sounding almost amused. 

“Pretty sure I just saw a rat.” he joked.

There was an odd noise at the other end of the line and he guessed she had automatically curled on whatever she was sitting on. Somehow, he had been certain she wouldn’t be a fan of rodents.

_“Then you know what you will do with your day, don’t you?”_ she retorted. _“Clean your house. And do some laundry too. Bedsheets are supposed to be changed more than once a year, you know.”_

“Interesting you’d be worried about the state of my sheets.” he teased.

The banter was only a way to make the call last but they wouldn’t be able to keep it up long without it becoming suspicious. He didn’t want to bring attention to what was going on between them. He didn’t want Snow to get _ideas_.

“ _Oh, do not flatter yourself. I am only concerned with your health.”_ she retorted without missing a beat. _“If you are sick, the children will have to mentor and I am_ so _not ready to break them in by myself.”_

Her voice faltered a little and he closed his eyes, swallowing back a sigh.

“You’d be fine.” he promised.

_“During a_ Quell _?”_ she laughed her fake laugh. _“It would be_ terrible _. A complete disaster. No, no… As much as it pains me to admit it, I need you. Besides, if you were to be incapacitated for the Games, the Gamemakers would be_ very _mad. You are our only Quell Victor, Haymitch. How exciting! You will have so many interviews… People are certainly waiting for their Second Quell Victor to impart some wisdom. We simply could_ not _do without you this year.”_

He wasn’t quite oblivious to what she was trying to do and, while he appreciated it, he doubted the reminder that the Quell was rolling around would be enough to balance out the fact he had tried to launch a revolution.

Still, it made him smile.

Did she think she was being subtle?

Did she think it would influence them?

She had a point though. With the Quell rolling around… He would get some attention and it might be just enough that they would wait to end him… He doubted he would escape without some sort of punishment though. And he doubted that this punishment wouldn’t take the form of an end.

“Great.” he deadpanned. “You know how I love being in the spotlight.”

_“Well.”_ she huffed. “ _Being in the spotlight is sometimes a good thing. Someone in the spotlight cannot fade away without questions being asked. Isn’t it nice to be missed?”_

It was getting dangerous and he took another swing of liquor. It was thick with dust and it made him gag a little but he swallowed it all.

He added that to the list of things he would need to do that day: visit the Hob.

“Doubt people would miss me long, sweetheart.” he pointed out.

_“Some would.”_ she argued.

_She_ would, she meant.

He closed his eyes a second, wishing he could… He wasn’t sure. Smell her perfume? He couldn’t even _imagine_ it given how much the house reeked.

“I need to go.” he said, his voice a bit too rough. This was painful. Knowing it might be the last time he was talking to her. _Not knowing_ rather. Not that he could say anything even if it _was_. The words he wanted to say would be her death warrant and he wasn’t _that_ selfish. “Stuff to do, you know.”

“ _Yes…”_ she sighed. “ _I have things to do too. Unpack and catch up with my friends amongst other things. It will be a busy, busy day!”_

He wondered if it was as physically painful to be that cheerful all the time as it sounded like.

“I bet.” he snorted.

There was a short silence and, when she spoke again, her voice betrayed her anxiety.

_“I shall call you tomorrow, shall I?”_ she declared. _“So we can start planning the wedding.”_

“You know I know _shit_ about weddings, right?” he replied. “Whatever you do will be…”

“ _I am not planning it on my own.”_ she cut him off. “ _I need your input. Why, I believe I will have to call you almost every day. Well. When need must…”_

 She was planning on checking on him, then.

As long as they talked only about the wedding, he didn’t see the harm.

He wasn’t against hearing her voice more often than once every six months.

“If you’ve got to.” he sighed.

“ _Try not to sound so happy about it or it will go to my head.”_ she teased. 

He snorted. “Bye, sweetheart.”

_“Goodbye, Haymitch.”_ she whispered.

There was a soft click and the dead ringing of a disconnected line.

The silence, once he had put the phone back on its cradle, was oppressing.

After so many weeks spent on the a train full of people, his house felt even deader and emptier than usual.


	4. Caught In The Blaze

He wasn’t really good at waiting, all the more so when he was waiting for the _fucking_ sword dangling over his head to finally sever his head from his body.

He had been pretty sure that whatever Snow had cooked up, it wouldn’t happen in the next week or so. He had been certain it _was_ coming though.

Against his best intentions, however, he had let himself be swept in a sort of routine.

Effie called every two days and, every time he didn’t fail to answer the phone, she relaxed a little more. He didn’t ask or try to figure it out but he guessed she had decided that he wasn’t in danger any longer, that whatever he had done to be so certain of his imminent punishment hadn’t been that bad after all. Her cheerfulness wasn’t as forced anymore, the banter was less about subtly reminding the Capitol that he was _still_ a Quell Victor who would be missed came the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, and she seemed genuinely excited by the prospect of organizing a wedding – listening to her, you couldn’t tell she knew the kids weren’t _actually_ rooting for that wedding, he couldn’t decide if it was on purpose or if she was just letting her characteristic enthusiasm sway her. More often than not, he let her talk her full while he drank, only snapping at her when she became really unbearable. 

Katniss convinced him to hire Hazelle as a housekeeper and his house was in such a state that he didn’t fight her on it. Finding himself forced to reconnect with an old friend from his childhood - who was now constantly underfoot - was a bit weird and he wasn’t entirely alright with it. Hazelle looked at him and searched for the boy he used to be instead of the man he now was. It made him uncomfortable on a good day and made him feel strangely guilty on the bad ones. Living in a clean house was too nice for him not to overcome his misgivings though. As much as he resented the intrusion on his privacy, he also appreciated having fresh laundry and not to have to hold his breath every time he came home.

Still, it contributed to luring him into a false sense of security.

The girl respected his need for loneliness more than the boy did. If anything, that already developed tendency of theirs to invade his home at any hour of the day only increased now that they were back. Katniss came around to sulk or, it seemed, to aggravate him at any given opportunity and the boy was always there to give him disapproving and slightly pitying looks when he woke up from a particularly bad binge.

It was a bit of a paradox how grateful he was for the kids’ presence when they grated on his very last nerve on a daily basis.

He let himself be swayed in a routine and, after three weeks, he began to believe that _maybe_ he and Cinna had been too quick to believe themselves dead men walking. Maybe Heavensbee hadn’t sold them out. Maybe Snow hadn’t figured out just how involved they had been. Maybe having crushed a possible rebellion in the bud was enough for the Capitol and punishing them would be redundant. Maybe…

Haymitch had never been one for hope but either Effie had rubbed off on him after all those years or having teenagers in his life was doing a number on him.

He walked straight into the trap.

He had warned Cinna whatever form their punishment would take – and he had been certain it would be lethal – it wouldn’t come at once, that they shouldn’t fall for it. And yet…

He became less attentive when he went out, less wary of what was lurking in the shadows, less cautious around the less reputable parts of the District… Accidents happened fast. It had only taken a spark to burn his house down to the ground with his family in it when he was a teenager and he should have remembered that. The smart thing to do would have been to make it difficult for them: stay home, triple check what he ate and drank, lock the doors and windows at night…

Instead, he found himself following the boy’s advices about getting some fresh air. He walked around town and inevitably ended up at the Hob where he bought some soup from Sae – something that was life threatening in itself – and inevitably ended up making conversation with Cray. The Head Peacekeeper didn’t treat him any different than usual, he was friendly and just as willing to close his eyes as usual. If the man had gotten instructions about him, he was a better actor than Haymitch gave him credit for.

It was funny how you only realized how much you loved being alive once you were certain you wouldn’t be much longer.

He couldn’t bear wasting around in his house anymore. He needed to go out, to walk, to talk to people, to _breathe_ …

After three weeks, he felt as if he had just escaped a shipwreck.

He was alive and unapologetically happy about it. 

He had survived. _Again_. And it was… a good feeling for once.

At least, it was until the phone rang at three in the morning.

He wasn’t asleep.

He rarely slept at night, the dark did nothing for him. He had been staring at the blurring lines of a book, trying to decide why he couldn’t see straight. Exhaustion had been a strong contestant - although he was sure the alcohol in his system wasn’t a stranger to the phenomenon - but he had been wondering if his sight was still as good as it used to be lately. He had trouble focusing on small prints, particularly at night. He had been toying with the idea of mentioning it to his escort. She would fuss but she would also get him an appointment with an eye doctor. If he needed glasses…

The phone startled him out of his tired musing and he frowned, automatically glancing at the old clock on the mantlepiece. Time zones were a pain but he quickly estimated it was around midnight in the city – late enough, in any case, that nobody would call except in case of emergency.

He placed the bottle of liquor on the coffee table and propped the book on the old couch’s frayed armrest. The fire wasn’t roaring as strongly as he would have liked and the floor was cold under his sock-clad feet. He was more buzzed than he had thought too. He was steady enough on his feet but his senses felt dimmed.

It occurred to him that it might be a ploy, a way to lure him into his kitchen in the middle of the night, vulnerable and helpless… His hand reached for the knife he kept at his belt just as he reached the other room but nobody jumped out of the shadows to attack him. He flicked the switch… The neon crackled for a couple of seconds before flooding the room with a painfully pale light.

He kept a tight grip on the handle of his knife as he reached for the phone with his free hand, leaning his back against the wall just to be sure nobody would attack him from behind.

_It’s not paranoia if they’ve tossed you in an arena once_ , he told himself.

“Yeah.” he mumbled.

_“Haymitch.”_

Effie broke down before she even finished uttering his name. Heavy ugly sobs that left her panting in the phone and made his stomach churn with dread.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Effie, what’s going on?” Horrible scenarios were flashing in his mind. _She_ was the one who was being attacked. _She_ was the one they would hurt because that had always been Snow’s way, hadn’t it? Hurt the people he… “Stop crying and _fucking_ talk to me! _”_

He shouted loud enough that his voice echoed, bouncing back on his kitchen walls as if to better mock him. He needlessly adjusted his grip on his knife, ready for a fight that was taking place miles away from him, on the other side of the country.

His chest was clenching with his every heartbeat. He tried to focus but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the terrifying thought that he would be forced to listen as she was being murdered, that he would have to bear witness to yet another loss and be expected to go on because…

There were no noises of fighting on the other end of the line though, just her heartbroken sobs.

It took him several minutes to realize she wasn’t in danger, at least not an immediate one, just terribly upset and, when that finally sunk in, his legs gave in. The rush of adrenaline had been so strong that now that it was gone… He slid down the wall and sat on the cold tiles, wavering between getting _very_ angry at her for scaring him like that or trying to figure out what had happened to get her in that state.

Effie was always in control of herself, it was her greatest asset. For her to lose it like that…

“Sweetheart…”  he said slowly. “Sweetheart, I need to know… You’re not hurt, yeah? You’re alright?”

Her breathing was loud, as if she was hunched over the phone – or more likely curled up on her couch with the phone under her ear – and it took her a long time to collect herself long enough to answer.

“ _I’m… I’m burned but… I’m… I’m alright.”_ she stammered.

“Burned.” he repeated. His heart immediately started racing again. “What do you mean _burned_?”

He almost cracked a joke about her smoking and how he had told her more than once that her cigarettes would kill her. It remained stuck in his throat.

“ _I… It was horrible…_ So _horrible…”_ She choked on the words and Haymitch could only listen as she started hiccupping from all the crying. “ _I… I cannot stop seeing…”_

“Effie, focus.” he rebuked, as gently as he could given his own frazzled state of mind. “Are you hurt?”

_“No… No…”_ she denied. _“It is… Nothing… It is nothing… Just my palm but… They gave me a balm and instructions… I… I will be fine. I will…”_ He could barely make sense of what she was saying. She was crying so hard, it was difficult to understand. _“I shouldn’t have tried to go in. That’s what the firemen said but… The screams… Haymitch, the screams…”_

She gagged and before he could say anything he heard the unmistakable sounds of retching. The phone had clearly been discarded but he could still hear her failed attempts at collecting herself. She was hyperventilating from what he could tell, out of breath from the crying and she had apparently made herself sick. He closed his eyes, wishing he had the necessary energy to reach for one of the bottles that lined the counter. Somehow, he felt he would need liquor to get through that conversation.

It was several long minutes before he heard her pick up the phone again.

“Where are you?” he asked.

_“Home_.” she whispered. She didn’t seem to be sobbing anymore but her teeth were audibly shattering. _“I… The Peacekeepers brought me home after…”_

Her voice trailed off and he didn’t try to pry the information out of her. Not yet.

_Peacekeepers_. He didn’t like that she had been in contact with Peacekeepers right after getting hurt. It didn’t sound as if _they_ had been the threat though. Not this time.

“You’re alone?” he insisted.

_“Yes.”_ Something clicked and he figured it was her earring, she must have been nodding. _“I’m not… I don’t feel well…”_

“You’re in shock.” he told her. The crying, the puking, the chattering teeth… “Do you have a blanket nearby? Something warm?” Again with the clicking noises that meant she was nodding but nothing else. He resolved himself to having to spell out everything. “Get it, sweetheart. Get warm.” He waited, analyzing the sounds. When it became silent again, he let out a long sigh. “Do you feel better?”

_“No_.” she answered at once, her voice breaking again. _“They’re dead. Haymitch, they’re…”_

“Who’s dead?” he cut her off.

It was a stupid question. However he needed to ask it. For clarity’s sake.

But he already knew.

Stupid him for falling in that trap.

Stupid him for believing, just for one second, that Snow could be _fucking_ merciful.

Stupid him for…

The gurgle at the other end of the line was unintelligible. She was sobbing again. Her crying sounded like the painful kind, the sort that was like a punch in the chest with each sob…

“What happened?” he pressed.

_“We… We were at their workshop because…”_ she stuttered. _“Head Gamemaker Heavensbee wanted to see the… the designs for Katniss’ possible wedding dresses and…”_

“Heavensbee.” he repeated flatly.

_“Yes. He was… he was adamant about it taking place tonight.”_ Her earring clanged against the phone again. _“He wanted to organize some sort of photoshoot before the Quell’s announcement… He wanted to see what…”_ She took a deep breath. _“Portia and I had plans to go to a party after and…”_ She sobbed again but she made an obvious effort to keep her voice steady enough that he would understand. _“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know… Everything was_ fine _and then…”_ Her sentence trailed off. _“The Head Gamemaker asked me to come outside with him, he wanted  to talk to me while he waited for his car. The… I… They are asking me to step down. After the Quell. I… I am too old. They want…”_

They wanted someone _he_ hadn’t influenced. The kids would mentor and they would get the standard new dumb escort who couldn’t tell her head out of her ass. A brand new team for Twelve.

Not that it was the main point in all this, he thought, feeling strangely detached.

He already knew what was coming.

Not in details maybe but he had a pretty good idea of the general picture.

_“I… I wasn’t… I wasn’t happy about that request.”_ she continued. _“I was trying to negotiate… To… I don’t know. I don’t_ know _.”_

“It’s fine, sweetheart.” he said mechanically.

_“No, it’s not fine!”_ she snapped. _“_ Nothing _is fine!”_ She sounded angry all of a sudden, her voice was shaking with something else than sorrow. _“It caught fire. The building. Right behind us, it…”_ She burst out laughing. A sharp bitter thing of a laugh that didn’t suit her at all. _“If Heavensbee hadn’t been, in essence, firing me I would still have been inside. I would…”_

“Effie.” he breathed out. It was raw, her name on his lips, rawer than it had ever been.

_“I tried to go back, to… to_ help _!  But the door was locked and it wouldn’t open.”_ she whispered tiredly. _“That is how I burned my hand. Then… I don’t really remember. I heard… Their screams, Haymitch… God…”_ She wasn’t crying anymore, she seemed to be too exhausted for that. _“I don’t remember. I think… The screams… I wanted to save them and… Head Gamemaker Heavensbee dragged me away before it really got bad. The blast… It blew out the windows and… There were no more screams. I knew… I knew.”_

He wasn’t sure if he ought to thank Plutarch or not. He doubted the Head Gamemaker would have stick out his neck for her so… They probably hadn’t wanted _her_ dead. The locked door, the fire…

Why was it always fire? Why…

He had never confessed that to anyone but dying burned alive… It was one of his greatest fears. Ever since he had come back to a charred house and fresh graves in the cemetery… He had been having nightmares about that for years.

And to think Cinna and Portia…

His fingers were wrapped so tight around the knife that they were starting to cramp. He forced himself to open his fist, to drop the weapon, so he could rub his eyes.

_“There was nothing I could do.”_ she insisted. _“I tried. I_ tried _.”_

“I know, sweetheart.” he sighed. “That’s not on you. Got nothing to do with you at all.”

_“But they are dead.”_ she countered, her voice breaking a little on the last word. _“Cinna and Portia are… They said it was one of Cinna’s prototypes, you know, that he was playing around with fire for Katniss again and…”_

“And he got burned.” he snorted without any humor at all.

_“Caught in the blaze.”_ she corrected. _“That is how Heavensbee put it. Cinna got caught in the girl on fire’s blaze.”_

And Portia too.

His gaze fell on the bottles again and he gave up on resisting temptation. He slowly hauled himself back to his feet and stumbled to the counter, stretching the phone’s cord as far as it would go so he could grab one. He took a large gulp.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Just your hand?”

_“Yes, I told you.”_ she replied impatiently. _“Do you understand what I am saying? Cinna and Portia are…_ They burned alive _.”_

“Yeah, I got the drift.” he scowled, swallowing more liquor, hoping to wash out the bad taste in his mouth.

_“How can you be so calm!”_ she screeched. It was so high-pitched that he winced. _“They are dead. Dead! Do you understand? They are_ dead _! They are…”_

“Dead.” he finished for her. His voice was flat.  “What do you want me to do? You want me to cry? To shout? Dead people are nothing new to me, Princess.”

It was harsh and he suspected he might have been in shock too.

It was one thing to expect one’s friend to die and another to have it happen like _that_. Like…

_Caught in the girl on fire’s blaze._  

Is that how he would go too? Did Snow know just _how badly_ he hated fire? Or was it just about a sadistic form of poetry? He was the one who had cracked the match after all. Cinna had made Katniss the girl on fire but it was _him_ who had stroked the embers until they caught. It was _him_ who…

_“I want you to fix it. I want them not to be dead.”_ she retorted petulantly, sounding so much like a child…

“Can you call someone over?” he deflected. “You shouldn’t be alone right now, sweetheart.”

She had never been confronted to that _shit_ first hand. Losing tribute after tribute through a screen was one thing. To actually witness friends dying…

She was strong but he wasn’t sure she was _that_ strong.

_“Can’t_ you _come?”_ she whispered in a shy pleading little voice that wasn’t like her. She was never shy, never hesitant to utter her demands. _“Surely, I can get you a travel permit given the circumstances. There will be funerals and it would be improper for you and the children not to attend. Surely… Oh god, there will be funerals…”_

And at the mention of the children…

He would need to tell the kids.

He would need to…

He brought the bottle to his mouth again.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now.” he said. He needed to keep the kids away from the city. It would be much more complicated to protect them there.

_“But…”_ she argued. “ _Haymitch, I…_ ”

“Look, here’s what you’re gonna do.” he cut her off before she could say something stupid and reckless like the fact she needed him. “You’re gonna take a sleeping pill. _One_ , you hear me? Not more. Just one.”

_“I_ told _you I stopped taking sleeping pills years ago.”_ she grumbled.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna toss the bottle you keep _just in case_ in the trash first thing tomorrow.” he told her. “’Cause the last thing we need is for you to slip back into old bad habits. One tonight, then no more.”

He almost expected her to argue or lie about it – he _knew_ she was keeping sleeping pills despite how close she had become to growing addicted to them a few years back, she just had better self-control than he had with liquor – but she simply drew out a long sigh. 

_“I can still hear the screams.”_ she whispered. _“I can’t… It won’t stop.”_

“Get a shower then some sleep.” he insisted. “It’s gonna be… _clearer_ in the morning.”

Not better. Certainly not better. But clearer, yeah.

“ _No.”_ she refused quickly. _“I don’t want… Will you stay on the phone with me? Until I fall asleep.”_

He hesitated. That was flirting with a line he wasn’t sure it was clever to toy with right now.

“Go get a shower.” He stalled for time. “You’ll be glad for that in the morning. Go get a shower and then… If you feel you need to call back…”

He was unsure but _she_ wasn’t.

_“Alright.”_ she sniffed. _“I will call back in a few. Do not… Do not go anywhere.”_

“I’ve got nowhere to go, sweetheart.” he sighed.

He let her hang up first and then he collapsed on a chair and stared at the bottle full of transparent liquid in his hand. He wasn’t really sure what was going through his mind.

One moment the bottle was right there, the next it crashed against the wall and shattered, projecting glass and liquor everywhere.

He grabbed his head in his hands and bowed over the table, not quite certain what he should do with himself now.

Suddenly, the sword over his head was dangling lower, so low that he could feel its tip.

He was screwed.

_So, so_ screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooopsie, I started killing people ;) Did you think it would happen this way? Did you like it? Hate it? Let me know!


	5. Bed Of Ashes

Haymitch was too sober for this.

Far too sober.

He purposefully kept a slow pace as he crossed the lonely streets that would take him to the Everdeens’ residence, hoping against all hopes that maybe Katniss would have gone hunting and that he wouldn’t have to impart the news himself. He _could_ just grab her mother and leave her to pass the message along, he supposed. That would be the coward’s way out but he had been known to be a coward at times.

He would leave it to fate.

If she was there, he would do it.

If she wasn’t…

He had waited for the sun to rise with dread, wishing for the morning light but scared of what it would bring. When Effie had called back… It hadn’t taken long for her to fall asleep once she had taken the pill but he hadn’t hung up at once, he had listened to her sleep for a while – which was almost as ridiculous as it got – and then he had tried to drown in liquor. Alcohol had done nothing for him aside for giving him a raging headache.

He was far too sober for this _shit_.

He paused in front of Katniss’ house, briefly closing his eyes before rasping his knuckles against the wood twice. The door opened on Prim almost at once. She smiled when she saw him, inviting him in without even asking what he wanted. He softened like he always did around the kid, flashing a rare smile and not protesting when she grabbed his hand to drag him to the kitchen.

Both Aster and Katniss looked surprised to see him but he was welcomed as if he was a part of the family. Before he could say anything, Aster was adding another plate and Katniss was asking if he wanted coffee.

His lack of answer made the three of them frown.

It was like his tongue was heavy with lead. He knew what he needed to say but it wouldn’t come out. He cleared his throat and decided there was no point in doing that twice so…

“Could you go get Peeta, sweetheart?” he asked Prim, refusing the seat Katniss pointed out with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It ain’t exactly a courtesy visit.”

“Is something wrong?” Aster asked, worrying her fingers.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Just… Someone go get Peeta, yeah?”

“I’ll go.” Prim agreed and ran out through the back door.

He deflected the questions both Katniss and her mother harassed him with, regretting not having had the presence of mind to collect the boy on his way there. It would have been easier.

A sleepless night, an upset Effie and not enough booze clearly wasn’t a good mix for his brain.

It didn’t take long for Prim to come back with Peeta. The boy was all smiles and waved two loaves of bread as he came in with a shy hello for Aster. “Prim said we were all having breakfast together so…”

“Haymitch’s got bad news.” Katniss told him and it dampened the boy’s good mood.

He waited until Peeta had sat down to clear his throat again. It felt too formal. He was the only one left standing up and everyone was staring at him. He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know the right words. The kids would be crushed and…

“Spit it out already!” the girl exclaimed. Tension was radiating from her in waves. She probably didn’t like the vibes she was picking up from him. She wasn’t the most observant person – not to say she was the most oblivious person he knew – but they understood each other very well and his shifty attitude was something she would definitely notice. “Does it have to do with the wedding? The excuse of Mom not giving her permission is gonna stick, right? Nobody’s in any hurry.”

Peeta looked down at his hands. Prim’s nudge of her elbow seemed to fly high over her head.

“It’s got nothing to do with the wedding.” he said slowly. He licked his lips, his fingers twitching for a bottle that was nowhere in sight. “I got news from the Capitol last night. There was an accident.”

“Effie?” Peeta immediately worried.

He lifted a reassuring hand that wasn’t as steady as he would have liked.

“Effie’s fine.” he said. “She’s okay. Upset but okay.”

“What kind of accident?” Katniss frowned.

It was almost aggressive, as if whatever had happened was his fault, as if he was guilty just because he was carrying the news.

“Look, there’s no good way to say it.” he sighed. “Cinna and Portia… Their workshop caught fire.”

“Are they okay?” Peeta asked as Prim and Aster gasped in shock and worry.

Katniss remained silent. Her grey eyes were staring straight at him and as much as he tried to avoid her gaze, he ended up looking back at her.

“They didn’t make it.” He answered the boy’s question but it was to her he was talking.

Katniss bolted out of her chair and to the door before any of them could do anything. He submitted to the other’s interrogations until he couldn’t bear it anymore and escaped the now oppressing kitchen.

The wind was strong that day and coal dust danced in the air. He coughed and buried his hands in his pockets, wondering if it would be reckless to call Effie or if he could make it pass as nothing more than a concerned friend checking on her after a terrible ordeal.

He was afraid he had already showed his hand where she was concerned and, right now, given what was happening, it wasn’t good. He didn’t want to be the example once more. He didn’t want her to pay for his foolishness.

He had barely reached the end of the street when Peeta caught up with him, looking a bit dazed. He matched the boy’s pace, mindful of the leg that always pained him on cold days such as this one. They walked in silence for a while.

Haymitch didn’t push.

It took time to come to terms with that kind of news.

“Was it really an accident?” the boy asked eventually.

He hesitated.

He had hidden the truth about Thirteen from them for a very good reason – and it wasn’t just because Katniss was the worst actress in Panem.

Ignorance was bliss.

Ignorance, in the world they lived in, was synonymous with safety.

The less the kids would know, the better.

But with Cinna and Portia gone… Chances were he would be next on the list. If Effie was forced to retire… He knew she wouldn’t _just_ abandon them to a new escort, he trusted her to be in the way as much as possible and to remain close to their victors. She would make sure they knew the ropes.

And yet…

Sure, new victors learned _everything_ soon enough. It didn’t matter where the information came from, there was no hiding certain truths about the Capitol. He was hoping the marriage would spare them Finnick’s fate but… In his heart, he knew it wouldn’t stop the vultures for long.

He wasn’t sure how much Peeta had already figured out. The Capitol was dangerous and angry with them, that much had been established during the Tour. Aside for that though…

As their mentor, he had a responsibility to prepare them. _He_ had been mostly alone after his victory. No mentor to coach him through the worst of it, a useless escort who had moved on as soon as she had been able and who had only cared about him so long as he was useful to her ambitions… Chaff had been there as much as he had been able, he had unofficially stepped up to the mentoring role.

It had seemed ironical to him at the time: mentoring the new mentor. He had been sixteen and naïve in his bitterness – far too innocent still on a lot of accounts despite how tainted he had come out of the arena.

If he wasn’t there to help, there would always be someone ready to fill his shoes – _that_ , he knew for certain. Other victors had been approached by Thirteen, some had been working with the rebellion for years, others only a few months… He wondered what would happen to _them_ , if similar punishments were waiting down the line. If Chaff made it through, he would coach his kids. And if he didn’t… There would be others. Finnick, for one, who would survive because the Capitol would never sacrifice their golden goose… Finnick would never leave Katniss and Peeta to hang. Even if he hadn’t been Haymitch’s friend, he had a golden heart.

So, yeah… Even if he died… The kids would probably be okay, taken care of.

And yet he couldn’t lie outright.

Was it an accident?

“Does it matter?” he retorted, after a few seconds of wavering.

The night and the morning had been difficult enough.

He wasn’t ready for any sort of tragic big reveal.

He wasn’t ready to explain what had happened to _him_ or Johanna… What happened to victors who didn’t play by the Capitol’s rules. He wasn’t ready to explain about the prostitution, be it the one actually organized by the Gamemakers or the more subtle one that sometimes took place with sponsors. He wasn’t ready to explain how to decide when it was okay to sell your body or your soul for money. He wasn’t ready to explain how it was sometimes necessary to ask an escort to be nice with certain people – and how they should never _ever_ go for that option unless they were _sure_ they had potential victors because _they_ didn’t play like Careers. He wasn’t ready to explain that, sometimes – _almost always_ – you had to make a choice between two children because Twelve’s resources were always thin and there could only be a single victor anyway – and he wasn’t ready for Peeta to confront him about the choice they had made the previous year.

He wasn’t ready to explain about the thousand things he had learned along the way.

That was a conversation to be had around a bottle of alcohol – if at all.

He wasn’t sure he could face the questions they would have. If he regretted surviving for so long. If he had ever been sold. If he had ever slept with someone for money. If he had ever asked an escort – _Effie –_ to do something like that. If he could look at himself in the mirror after deciding to favor one of his tribute against the other. If that was why he was drinking.

There was only one negative answer in that list and he wasn’t sure it was his saving grace. He had never thrown Effie to the wolves, _never_. But he was pretty sure she had walked into the den behind his back by herself more than once. She didn’t want him to know and he pretended he didn’t. Just like she had pretended she hadn’t understood when he had come back with enough money to get Katniss medicine and a hickey she hadn’t left on his throat.

There were always pressure points, that was the thing. They were more or less effective so they used them with parsimony but there were _always_ pressure points.

Even when you lived in a self-imposed prison and kept people away in a pitiful attempt at both punishing yourself and saving innocents from being swept in your _shitty_ life.

The Capitol could choose to make life in Twelve a living hell for the people – it didn’t take much: late shipments, less safety than there already was in the mines… They could threaten friends. They could make it near impossible for you to get whatever it was you needed to cope – like liquor.

There were a thousand ways to skin a victor.

And if the Capitol was good at something, it was mind games. 

They only killed you if you crossed the line – like by trying to launch a rebellion – because death wasn’t the worst thing you could do to someone. Haymitch knew that first hand.

And he didn’t want to get into any of that. Not there, not now, not when Cinna and Portia had just paid the price for their collective folly and he might be next. So he hoped the boy wasn’t asking for an actual answer, an actual explanation. He hoped the boy would… _understand._

Peeta shrugged. “It depends if you think there will be more accidents.”

_Clever kid._

He couldn’t help the swell of pride. Peeta would learn how to play the game quickly. And if she was very lucky, he might just manage to keep the girl alive despite her tendency for rash actions.

“That’s the thing with accidents…” he deadpanned. “You never know when they’re gonna happen.” The boy covertly studied him and Haymitch pretended he didn’t notice. They were nearing the kid’s house and he stopped, burying his hands in the pockets of his coat. “You two will be just fine. Panem’s waiting for that big wedding. Can’t disappoint.”

The date hadn’t been picked yet but he would bet on sometimes before or after the next Victory Tour. Something to keep the Capitol’s interest in the Games alive during the hiatus. Or maybe they will luck out and the new Quell’s victor would be successful enough that the wedding would be pushed back to the year after that.

 “Will _you_?” Peeta asked. “Be alright?”

“If the drinking doesn’t do me in.” he snorted casually, as if it was a good joke. As if two of their friends weren’t dead. As if…

He wasn’t certain the boy got the message but Peeta looked down at his boots, mirroring his position by putting his hands in his own pockets.

“She loves Cinna.” the kid said slowly. “ _Loved_. I can’t really pretend to understand what they shared but they had _something_. A connection.”

“Yeah.” he acknowledged.

He had resented Katniss’ worshiping of the stylist plenty of times before. Whatever he did, Cinna was always the good guy and _he_ was the manipulative bastard. It didn’t matter that _he_ was the one making the hard choices to keep her alive or that Cinna had been the first to see the symbol she could become and had marked her as such when it would have been _way_ easier for her if he hadn’t. To Katniss, Cinna was the good guy.

He liked Cinna. He really did. _Had_ _liked_. But… The man had had his flaws. His dedication to the cause had blinded him to a lot of things. Bringing Portia along for one… Haymitch couldn’t understand that. You protected your loved ones. From everything. From yourself even. From themselves if need be. 

“She will need you.” Peeta declared awkwardly. “When she comes back from wherever she went… You need to make sure she’s okay.”

“She won’t come to _me_.” he scoffed.

“She won’t talk to her family because she needs to be the strong one.” the boy countered. “I don’t think she’s seeing much of Gale these days and she certainly won’t come to _me_.” He shook his head. “It leaves you.”

“Lucky me.” he sighed.

“You would be her first choice anyway.” Peeta remarked bitterly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what you mean to her.”

The engagement had been a smart idea but Haymitch couldn’t say he didn’t feel sorry for the boy. Peeta had gotten the short end of the stick. He would get the girl but the girl was too stupid to realize what her own feelings were. He supposed he could relate. He was a champion at denial, after all.

Unrequited love… It wasn’t the best place to be. All the more so if the woman you loved was forced to be with you against her will.

“I’m a pain in her ass.” he pointed out. “She’s telling me often enough.”

“You’re our mentor and she needs you.” The boy kicked a heap of dirt, avoiding his eyes. “I need you too. Try not to get into any… accident.”

“Ah, kid…” he sighed, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m gonna do my best but I don’t make promises I don’t know I can keep.”

Peeta nodded and then shrugged, looking a bit lost again. “Do you think I should call Effie? She must be upset.”

The change of topic was welcomed.

He checked his watch. “Give it a couple of hours. She took something to sleep and she could use the rest.”

“Is she…” The boy made a face. “Do you think _she_ could have an accident?”

“Don’t think so.” he replied quickly. It might have been wishful thinking on his part. A feeble attempt at convincing himself that she would be alright.

“Good.” Peeta breathed out with obvious relief. “Good.”

Haymitch nodded and headed to his own house. The sun was hiding behind dark threatening clouds and he wondered how long it would take for the downpour to start.

Wasn’t that a question for the ages...

He was so focused on the weather that he didn’t really pay attention when he unlocked his door. He used the side entrance as a habit, having always found it easier to go through the kitchen than to use the imposing front door. He felt it as soon as he stepped inside.

Something was off.

His knife was out before he could even think about it. His heart was beating loud but his hands weren’t shaking. He recognized the hunter instinct for what it was, it was the same sixth sense for danger that had gotten him out of an arena once upon a time. He went through every room, checked all the windows and doors…

The  house was just as empty as usual.

He had learned to trust his guts long ago though and he wasn’t as quick to dismiss it as a trick his exhaustion played on his brain as he probably should. And, when he came back to the kitchen – for a well-needed drink – he was proven right.

He was positive they hadn’t been there when he had first come in.

But they were there now.

Two white roses arranged in an empty glass in the middle of the table.

The back door was ajar.

He checked the backyard but it was long empty, whoever had left the roses was gone.

He closed the door and poured himself a drink. The smell of the flowers was sickening. Their intent clear. Two roses for two dead friends, a signature and a promise all at once. Tossing them in the trash wouldn’t get rid of their perfume so he downed his glass and actually tossed them outside, crushing them under his boots. Then, he started walking because it was something to do.

He stopped at the broken fountain half covered with moss and waited. He wasn’t sure how much time he spent there, trying to look casual when his ass was freezing sitting on the cold marble stone. He stared at the sky and made bets with himself about who would arrive first: Katniss or the storm.

He was leaning toward the storm when the figure of the girl appeared between the wrought iron gates of the Village. She hadn’t grabbed a coat before bolting out of the kitchen and she looked even more frozen than his numb ass was. She was hugging herself, lost in her own thoughts, and her reddish eyes widened in surprise when she spotted him.

For a second, they stared at each other, not certain where they stood.

Then, he wordlessly shrug his coat and handed it to her. She took it with some hesitation but was clearly too cold to protest.

“Was it my fault?” she asked, sounding much younger than her sixteen years – and so, _so_ lost. “Because of the berries? Of the Tour…”

“No.” he offered. It was a half-lie maybe but he had never had any problem lying when it was about protecting people he loved. “Nothing to do with you.”

“It wasn’t an _accident_.” she spat. “I’m not _stupid_. It wasn’t.”

Always so much blunter than the boy… _Brash_.

She would have troubles playing the Capitol’s game, he already knew. She was… _too_ _rash_.

He couldn’t say he would leave much unfinished business when he would die but Katniss… It was Katniss he was worrying about the most. She was fragile underneath the bravado and she needed guidance despite her rebellious sulky tendencies. He wasn’t sure she could make it on her own and he wasn’t sure the boy could impose himself enough to help her. Peeta always caved to her wishes.

“It wasn’t about you.” he insisted, choosing his wording carefully.

She shook her head. Her jaw was clenched and she was obviously trying to control herself but tears slipped out all the same.

“When is it going to end?” she asked. “It’s like… It’s like a bad dream and… There’s no waking up.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” he sighed.

He half-expected her to push him away but she almost cannonballed into his arms when he opened them. She needed the hug, he figured. It wasn’t just about their friends, it was about everything. The pressure the Tour had put on them, the reality of the situation sinking in, the certainty there would be no escape from this life…

She was tough as nails, that girl, but you could only be strong for so long… There was a breaking point. There was _always_ a breaking point. 

He didn’t promise it would be alright or even that it would get better. He had just told the boy he didn’t like making promises he couldn’t keep and he stood by that.

He held her as she cried, trying not to notice that the wind had picked up and that drops randomly hit his back. It was stupid to be out there without a coat and he would catch a cold.

The girl needed him though so he remained silent.

Lighting flashed and they barely had time to step away from each other before the downpour started. They ran because that was what you did when you got caught in a storm. Thunder booming over their heads, lighting flashing in the suddenly threatening sky… They ran.

He was out of breath after only a minute but Katniss didn’t notice. She dashed ahead, leaving him to stop and pant under the heavy water, rushing for safety while he stood there and accepted his fate.

He wished it wasn’t as prophetical as it felt.

He was soaked to the bones when he finally reached his house and he spared a thought for what Hazelle would have to say when she would find the mud tracks on floors she had mopped a couple of days earlier.

He walked straight into his shower and turned the water as hot as it would get – which was never really hot in Twelve, certainly not as scalding as the Capitol showers could be – losing himself to the stream of water, letting it wash away some of the horror of the night.

He felt slightly better when he stepped out of there, his mind was clearer. He shaved. For no other reason than the fact it had been a while since he had bothered.

It was well past noon when he walked back downstairs, caving to his rumbling stomach. The sky was still dark and the storm was raging. He found some cheese in the fridge and munched on it while he dialed the phone.

The line kept sizzling and Effie was too out of it to be really coherent. It was a short conversation.

He grabbed a bottle of liquor and went to the living-room to light a fire, intending to do nothing all day but lie on the couch and wallow in his misery.

He found the third rose in the fireplace, a dot of white on a bed of ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch's papa mode is activated XD I hope you liked this chapter. Next time there will be some... action and I will take this opportunity to remind you that I warned you that this story would be angsty and darkish at times although it's all in the books so really... Anyway! I hope you enjoyed this chapter... What do you think that third rose means? Let me know your thoughts!


	6. Count To Five

The storm lasted three days.

It left the District muddy and Haymitch with a cough that he had been treating with medicinal moonshine – _despite_ Aster’s insistence that he should use her herbal remedies instead. Truth be told, he was glad for the excuse, it allowed him to avoid the kids without too much difficulties. Being stuck in his house though… He was getting antsy.

He had burned the white rose but it didn’t matter, its fragrance lingered. It was most likely in his head, he knew that, but it made little difference. He could still smell it. Like a faint poison in the air, an omen of what was to come.

It wasn’t just the flower or what it stood for, it was the fact that people had broken into his house, had _violated_ the only refuge he had left. He didn’t feel safe anymore – although he supposed that was very much the point. His sleep schedule that had already been erratic was now almost inexistent. He fell asleep sometimes – or _passed out_ rather – but never for long. Either the familiar creaking and popping of the house would startle him awake or he would have a nightmare. He clutched the handle of his knife so often and so tightly that his fingers were regularly cramping.

Something had to give.

Which was why he wasn’t really surprised when he heard the racket in the street one morning. Startled, yes. Wary, yes. But surprised, no.

He head the neigh of a horse as well as the brutal noise of wheels hitting the various potholes that lined the Village’s streets. He was halfway to the front door when someone hammered on it in a panic.

He kept his knife out of sight but ready to be used.

“Tom.” he frowned when he recognized the middle-aged man.

Everyone in the District knew Tom. He was older than Haymitch by a good ten years and he had been in charge of deliveries for as long as anyone could remember. Horses and carts were rare in Twelve, it was enough to assure his notoriety. Their paths had crossed a few times at the Hob but Haymitch couldn’t remember ever having a real conversation with him.

“Katniss and Gale are in trouble.” the old man said, obviously worried. “New Peacekeepers arrived this morning. It’s… It’s like the old days. Before Cray.”

Haymitch’s heart missed a beat.

Before Cray…

He didn’t hesitate.

He rushed to the cart, not bothering to ask the man if he could give him a ride. Tom was already climbing back up and encouraged the horse to go as fast as he could. It still wasn’t fast enough for Haymitch who jumped out as soon as they got closer to town.

It wasn’t difficult to find the kids.

He only had to follow the shouts. He pushed people aside, shouldering his way through the thick crowd that was massing on the square.

He faltered for a second when he caught sight of what was happening.

Gale Hawthorne was tied to the whipping post that had rarely been used since Cray had become Head Peacekeeper, his back a bloody mess. Darius, one of the youngest Peacekeepers, was lying on the ground not too far – knocked out or dead, Haymitch wasn’t sure.

The sight that really made his heart stop right in his chest was the rest though.

The stranger in the white uniform of a Head Peacekeeper was pointing a gun straight at Katniss, the whip clutched in his other hand.

And the stupid girl remained there, in front of her friend, blood dripping from a gash on her cheek, chin high, looking every bit the symbol of a rebellion that would never happen.

“Last warning.” the man growled. “Step aside.”

Haymitch jumped in-between them, almost relieved when the barrel of the gun turned to him. He lifted both hands in a defensive gesture, to show he wasn’t a threat.

“Get out of my way.” the Peacekeeper ordered.

“You don’t want to shoot her.” he said quickly. “Do you know who I am? Do you know who she is? You don’t want to shoot her.”

The man didn’t look impressed. “You’re both interfering. Step aside _now_.”

“I’m Haymitch. She’s _Katniss Everdeen_.” he insisted. “You…” Peeta appeared out of nowhere and put himself in the middle, giving Haymitch another small heart attack. He grabbed the kid by the lapel of his shirt and pushed him behind him, stretching his arms wide to make himself the bigger target. “Look…”

“Victors aren’t above the law.” the Peacekeeper spat. “The law’s been ignored long enough in this District. It changes _today_.” The man looked around at the crowd that had gathered and that was being kept in check by a few Peacekeepers whose faces Haymitch didn’t recognize, making eye contact with the strongest looking men standing there – identifying the potential threats. “Victors aren’t above the law. _Nobody_ is above the law. Anyone caught poaching will be punished. Anyone caught partaking in black market will be punished. Anyone violating curfew will be punished. Anyone interfering with justice will be punished.” The sneer was directed toward Haymitch. “Discipline in Twelve has been lacking, I’m here to see to that. I’ve been handpicked for this job. I have _specific_ orders, so this is the only warning you get, Abernathy. _Step aside_.”

His breaths came out in fast puffs. He wanted to cough but it was stuck in his throat.

_Specific orders. Victors not being above the law._

He had expected retributions, he hadn’t thought it would be taking this particular shape.

He needed to get the kids out of there. But Peeta wouldn’t go without Katniss and Katniss wouldn’t go without Hazelle’s son.

“What did the boy do?” he asked, trying to sound calm and to maintain eye contact. “Surely, he’s got enough? First offence and all that…”

“I’m done with the boy. Ten lashes for poaching, that’s the rate. Next time, it’ll be thirty. The time after that, the firing squad.” the new Head Peacekeeper dismissed before pointing his whip at something above Haymitch’s shoulder. “Now, _she_ interfered.”

“He’s her cousin and she’s stupid.” he said quickly.

“She _still_ interfered.” the man shrugged, putting his gun away and transferring the whip from his left to his right hand. “The law’s the law. No exception.”

“He can’t be serious.” Peeta scoffed behind him.

Haymitch was afraid the man was being _very, very_ serious on the contrary. Nothing would send a stronger message than having Katniss Everdeen whipped on the main square.

A hushed murmur of protestation floated around the crowd but the new Peacekeepers’ guns were effective enough. Nobody actually moved. And even if they _were_ to move… It would have given the Capitol an excuse to open fire. People would have died for nothing and he would have been responsible for the bloodshed because he was the reason they were in this mess in the first place.

The white rose on its bed of ashes.

The smell he couldn’t shake.

_The law was the law._

He licked his lips and dropped his arms back to his side. “She’s not eighteen.”

“And if her parents want to take responsibility for her that’s fine.” the Peacekeeper shrugged. “But they better step forward now.”

He didn’t know where Aster was and he wasn’t sure she would have done it anyway. Nor was it the clever choice anyway. They were short of healers in Twelve. And it was becoming clear they would need her in the near future. 

“I’m legally responsible for her.” he objected.

“Haymitch, what are you doing?” Katniss scowled behind him but _bless_ Peeta’s reflexes. The boy grabbed her and held her back before she could put herself in the middle again.

“You’re saying you’re her father?” the Head Peacekeeper snorted. “I’m pretty sure that would have made the news.” 

“I’m saying I’m her _mentor_.” he snapped, raising his voice. “I’m saying that gives me guardianship over her when her mother’s not around. I’m saying she’s sixteen and I’m responsible for her so you’re touching her _over my dead body_.”

He just hoped that wouldn’t be literal.

The man studied him for a second and then nodded his assent.

Haymitch breathed a sigh of relief. His argument was fishy at best and he was pretty sure the law wasn’t that clear about what to do with a mentor who tried to claim legal responsibility for another victor, underage or not. The Head Peacekeeper could have insisted. He turned to the kids and tried to look less nervous than he felt.

“Get the boy off that post and to Katniss’ mother.” he told Peeta. “And get her out of here.”

“I don’t understand.” the girl frowned. “What are you doing? What’s…”

“Get away and _stay_ away.” he cut her off, staring straight at Peeta.

Katniss opened her mouth but Peeta dragged her to Gale before she could say anything more. They made a quick job of untying the boy, a couple of men stepped out of the crowd to help the kids carry him.

“Restrain him.” the Head Peacekeeper demanded. He didn’t raise his voice but it seemed to echo around the square.

The kids weren’t far enough and Katniss whirled back, understanding dawning on her face.

“No!” she shouted. “You can’t! Let me go! _Let me go_!”

Haymitch didn’t let his gaze stray in her direction. He saw, in the corners of his eyes, that Peeta had grabbed her around the waist and was bodily removing her from the scene.

He shrugged off the hand of the new Peacekeeper woman who tried to hold him with a disdainful snarl. “You mind? I like this shirt.”

He took his time unbuttoning it, trying to prepare himself for what would follow, aware that this cocky casual display of confidence could have been seen as a sign of insolence. He had never thought he would be in that position again. Being tied to a whipping post. He had though he had left that behind when they had put a crown on his head. One of the few perks of being a victor, really.

If an offender was a minor, one of their parents or legal guardians could request to take the punishment in their stead. It wasn’t a mercy thing. It was agreed that watching one of your parents getting whipped to an inch of their lives for something _you_ did was more effective than being beaten raw yourself.

Nobody had been there to step in for him when, at the age of fifteen, he had been caught sneaking out of the woods with a bag full of rabbits. His mother had been working and had been alerted too late – not that he would have let her do it anyway – and his father… His father had been long gone by then, like the worthless drunk he had been.

There were speckles of blood everywhere around the post. He discarded the shirt to the side and tried not to flinch when the woman locked the restraints around his wrists. She didn’t look quite at ease with what was going on but she also made no offer to help him.

Darius still had to stand up so he honestly kind of understood.

He wondered where Cray was. If he had been demoted or if it was worse than that.

Then, the whip lashed out and he stopped wondering.

He clenched his jaw but couldn’t help a groan.

_Fuck,_ but that hurt more than he remembered. 

He tried to draw strength from the crowd because there was _a tension_ there, a quiet defiance… But in the end, compared to the pain of leather tearing his skin open, quiet defiance meant very little.

“Everdeen’s punishment would have been five lashes.” the Head Peacekeeper announced. “That was one.”

“No kidding.” He spat to the side, planting his feet wider on the ground. He could feel the blood and the sweat running down his back. “Let’s see if you can count to five now.”

It was stupid to provoke him but he had his pride, that was his flaw, and he refused to be cowed while being beaten like a dog. He put all his weight on his legs and tensed his muscles, eyes closed.

That lash was harder and the grunt he tried to swallow back left his throat raw. His lack of reaction seemed to annoy the Head Peacekeeper. This was supposed to be an example for the District, he figured, and it wasn’t exactly working out. He bowed until his forehead was against the chipped wood of the post and waited for the rest of it. Three left. He could take three. He had taken ten when he had been a teenager and he had survived. He could take three.

His left knee buckled with the next hit but he forced himself to remain still. He would not fidget. He would not fall. He wouldn’t hang there like a powerless punching ball.

His ego wouldn’t allow it.

And a part of him, a part he didn’t indulge in often, kept pushing for him to remind them _who_ he was. He was Haymitch Abernathy. He was the Second Quarter Quell’s victor. And _fuck_ if that didn’t mean _something_.

But he was also the victor who had tried to launch a rebellion and he had a feeling nobody would let him forget _that_ anytime soon.

The three lashes on his back were more or less parallel. He knew what would come next and he breathed slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and deep, nicely regular.

The fourth lash crisscrossed over the other three and it was less a groan than a whimper that escaped his lips. His sight was starting to blur and he shut his eyes tight, knowing the last would be the worst. The last was _always_ the worst.

The tip of the lash caught him above the shoulder on its way down and his left knee gave in. It hit the ground in a cloud of dust and, for a moment, he remained there, half defeated, arms stretched tight above his head, certain there would be more lashes.

“Punishment has been served. Release the prisoner.” the Head Peacekeeper declared.

Fair. Haymitch mused. Twisted but fair.

“Clear the square!” the man ordered next. “If I see any kind of illegal reunion I will arrest you all.”

His wrists were freed of the shackles and his arms heavily fell back to his sides, opening the deep gashes on his back. He took a second to breathe, shrugging off the hands that tried to help him up, clenching his jaw at the blinding pain that it triggered. He snatched his shirt from the dirt before pushing on his good knee to stand up.

He swayed a little on his feet and all he wanted to do was collapse face first and remain there. _Die_ there, maybe, because at least it would finally be _over_. He stared straight at the Head Peacekeeper instead.

“I’m keeping an eye on you and on that girl of yours.” the man warned. “One toe out of line and you will regret it. Understood?”

“Crystal clear.” he sneered.

“Good.” the newcomer said. “’Cause I don’t care who you are or what you won. You’ll obey the law like everyone else.”

“Head Peacekeeper Thread.” another new Peacekeeper arrived in a hurry. “We have a lead on the black market.”

“Well done.” Thread praised, before pointing out at a still passed-out Darius. “Get that disgrace away.” 

He left without another glance for Haymitch.

“Haymitch.” Sae said, suddenly at his side. Her old cold hands wrapped tight around his arms, careful not to touch the wounds on his back. “Let’s get you home.”

“He’s gonna raid the Hob.” he said flatly.

“We heard.” she said, her eyes turning in the direction of the Seam. He realized there were quite a few people around him now, hands outstretched to prevent an eventual fall. “It’s alright, son. Someone’s gonna warn them. Let’s worry about you, now.”

“Disperse!” a Peacekeeper shouted from the side of the square. “Disperse or I shoot on sight!”

A few people ran away as fast as their legs could carry them. Sae and a few men in miners outfits remained.

“Gary and Liam are gonna carry you to Aster Everdeen.” the old woman declared.

He stepped away when the man tried to grab him. He felt dizzy and his sight kept flashing white but he shook his head. “I can walk.”

“Haymitch.” Sae rebuked.

“ _I can walk_.” he snapped.

He was in shock. He was in shock and high on adrenaline and that was lucky because as bad as the pain was, he was sure it would get worse. Much _much_ worse.

He put one foot in front of the other, clutching his shirt in his right hand, and onward he went. It was the trick, really, one foot in front of the other. He was aware people were watching his pitiful walk of shame. Bare-chested, mangled back, leaving a trail of blood behind him… He faltered a few times, tripped… Some people stepped forward to help him but others held them back. More watched from behind the safety of their dirty windows, safe from retributions.

The message Thread had sent had been clear.

Twelve’s victors weren’t in favor.

And it wouldn’t do to be associated with them.

It was the right move. Haymitch would have told them if he had been in a state to do so.

Instead he walked on like a mindless zombie, his only goal reaching his house before his body gave in to the shaking and the pain.

One foot in front of the other.

He was torn between relief and irritation when he saw Peeta making his way toward him as he neared the slope that went up to the Village.

“ _Shit_.” the boy cursed. “I was coming back for you. You should have waited. You should have…”His knees gave in and, truth be told, if the boy hadn’t caught him, he would have hit the ground face first. Unfortunately, Peeta grabbed him where he could and it was around his back. His sight flashed white and he let out a pained whine. “ _Shit_ , I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He had never heard the boy curse as much. Effie would have been horrified.

“Told you to _stay_ _away_.” he mumbled. He didn’t want the boy or the girl to see him like that.

“Yeah, _that_ ’s happening.” Peeta scoffed. “Let’s get you to Mrs Everdeen.”

“I’m fine.” he muttered. “Wanna go home.”

The boy looked sorry when he shook his head. “You need stitches.”

“Can do that at home.” he argued. “Wanna go _home_.”

“Gale isn’t doing well.” Peeta told him, hauling him up, making an effort not to worsen his injuries. “Mrs Everdeen can’t leave. You have to go to her.”

“She can do it later.” he insisted. “I need a glass.”

And to throw up. Preferably not in that order.

His guts were churning.

He managed to reach the Village’s gates but he barely had time to turn his head to the side before emptying the content of his stomach on the side of the fountain and on his shoes. The spasms made his wounds hurt worse and, in turn, it made him want to throw up again. It was a vicious circle. He was trembling now, his muscles exhausted from the ordeal. He was cold. It was no weather to walk around shirtless, all the more so when you were sweaty and already had a cough.

“I’ve got you, Haymitch.” Peeta said gently. “I’ve got you.”

He didn’t protest when the boy supported him to Katniss’ house – _half carried_ him, really. He didn’t have it in him.

It was chaos inside the kitchen. Gale was lying face down on the table, moaning and thrashing against the hands that were trying to restrain him. Prim was trying to make the boy drink something. Katniss was standing around helplessly, a bowl of fresh snow in her hands, white as a sheet. Hazelle was silently crying as she tried to keep her son still. And Aster, who had been inspecting the boy’s wounds, looked up when they came in.

Suddenly she was right in front of him, her hands gripping his upper arms _hard_.

“Thank you.” she said, so _raw_. He nodded because there was nothing else to do.

“He needs help.” Peeta sensibly cut in.

Aster turned him around and inspected his back. Gentle fingers probed at the wounds and he couldn’t help a cry of pain. It seemed to shock everyone in the room.

“Gale’s more badly injured.” the healer declared, looking at Peeta. “Help him to the living-room. Put some snow on those gashes, it’ll help with the pain. Katniss, go get him some liquor.”

“Bless you.” he breathed out at the mention of alcohol.

Everything else was a blur. He let Peeta help him to the couch and, once he was lying there with his face down, he decided he would never move again. The snow made everything worse before it made it slightly better but it was the liquor that was the real savior there. He drank as much as he could. He drank until he almost passed out.

He was glad for it when Aster started stitching up his back. He didn’t need her quiet comment that it would scar.

One more, one left…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm mean. XD


	7. How We Survive

Haymitch must have surrendered to unconsciousness because when he opened his eyes next, the room was dark saved from the fire roaring in the fireplace.

He wasn’t drunk anymore.

His back was on fire.

People were talking in the next room. He identified Katniss, and Gale’s deeper voice. He listened to the words but they didn’t make much sense to him.

He wished she would put an end to that. He understood she might have feelings for the boy but she was putting him in danger with that fling. Him and Peeta both.

He drifted off again, only really stirring when he heard her quiet footsteps coming closer. He tried to look up at her but it disturbed the wounds on his back and he resolved not to move again if he could help it. She crouched next to the couch so they could be at eye level.

It was too dark for him to really make out the expression on her face but he could see the dark bags under her eyes in the pale glow of the fireplace.

“Should get some sleep, girl.” he muttered. “You look like _shit_.”

“’Cause you look _so_ good.” she retorted and then immediately glanced down, as if she regretted the gibe.

He licked his dry lips, making sure to keep his tone light. “Yeah, well… What do you know, I’m not eighteen anymore… We can’t all look good half beaten to death. Your friend’s making it difficult for the rest of us.”

“Please.” Katniss scoffed. “Everyone’s talking about how you walked through the whole District with your back torn open. It was _stupid_ but they all think it was brave or whatever.”

“They’re easy to impress.” he snorted.

For a second, he thought she would keep up the banter but she grew somber instead. “No, they’re not.”

He let out a long breath. “Let’s not do this, yeah?”

“Do what?” she frowned.

“The thanking part.” He moved his hand to rub his face and regretted it when it tugged on the stitches.

“You didn’t have to do that.” she whispered.

“Yeah, I did.” he sighed.

She shook her head. “It was my fault and I could have taken it more easily. You’re not… You’re not _young_ anymore. We can’t lose you, Haymitch. Cinna and Portia just… We _can’t_ lose you too.”

“Why, thanks.” he chuckled to lighten the mood, wincing when it woke the pain in his back. It also ended up in a coughing fit that did nothing to help. “I saved you and you call me an old man. Real nice, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean.” she argued, sounding almost angry now. “And it wasn’t your place anyway… You owe me nothing. That law… It’s for _parents_. You’re not…” She stopped, clearly embarrassed. “You shouldn’t feel you have to do that for me. I can handle myself. I didn’t ask you anything.”

“You don’t need to, that’s the thing.” he pointed out. “I’d do it again too. But not anytime soon, so try to stay out of trouble.”

“Well, I don’t want you to!” she snapped. “I can’t be responsible if…”

“ _You’_ re not responsible for _me_. _I_ am responsible for _you_.” he interrupted firmly. “That’s the whole point. You’ve got a _shitty_ understanding of how that kind of relationship works, you know?”

“You’re not my father.” she spat, full of fury and resentment. And maybe some bitterness too.

“Does it matter?” he asked. He would have shrugged if he hadn’t been so certain it would make him pass out. “I’m your mentor. It makes you my kid.”

“I _don’t want_ to be your kid.” she growled. “I’m fine on my own.”

“But you’re _not_ on your own.” he spat. “And the sooner you realize that, the better. You didn’t choose this life, I get it. _Trust me,_ I get it. But, guess what? It’s too late now. You need to wake up, Katniss. Everything you say or do now… You’ve got people depending on you. You _fuck_ up, they’re the ones who’re gonna pay the price. It’s not fair. I _fucking_ know it’s not fair, but that’s the way it is. Your mom, your sis… Peeta. That boy over there. They’re your people. You’re responsible for them. You _fuck_ up, it’s them who end up hurt. So you play the game. You play the _fucking_ game like a good victor. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s unfair. Even when it hurts so bad you want to scream. Even if it makes your skin crawl. You need to _think_ before you act.” He let out a long sigh. “What you did today, it was stupid. It could have ended up much worse than it did. If you’d let it go… Gale would have been hurt but hurt isn’t dead. _Hurt isn’t dead_. Understand?”

He almost expected her to bolt because that was her thing when it became too difficult. Run, hide, process and then come back.

She rubbed her eyes instead. “We’re never getting off the train.”

“We’re never getting off the train.” he confirmed.

She didn’t say anything else for a long time. Her face was turned away from him, toward the dark kitchen and he couldn’t guess at her expression. He was starting to drift off when she spoke again, her voice flat. “Are we your people? Peeta and me.”

He didn’t know if Katniss’ house was bugged. He regularly made sweeps through his own but they hadn’t bothered trying to spy on him in a long time. Katniss’ house, now, he had no idea, so he kept it at a half truth. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re my people.”

And _Effie_ , but that part he left out.

“Did you have people? Before.” she asked.

It was dark and she wasn’t looking at him. It was the only reason why he told her the truth. “I did, yeah.”

“What happened?” she insisted, without any tact.

He closed his eyes, feeling the same wave of sadness and anger rise in his chest he always did when he let himself think about his family, about his girl. He wasn’t up for sharing the details.

“I _fucked_ up.” he admitted quietly.

He didn’t need to clarify what it had meant for him in the long run. How he had ended up the way he had, drunk and alone… He supposed it was self-explanatory.

“I wish I had never won.” she whispered. “What’s even the point of winning…”

“Nobody ever wins the Games.” he scoffed. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? There’s no _winning_. There’s no _winners._ There are _survivors_. The sooner you get the difference, the better. We’re still in the arena, it’s just a different kind.”

“So what do we do?” she scowled. “There must be a way to…”

“We do what we always do.” he cut her off, before she could make a rebellious comment. “We survive.”

“That means other people will die.” she snapped. “ _That’_ s how we survive? By letting other people die?”

“Yeah.” he confirmed coldly. “’Cause that’s how we make sure our people survive too. We bear the guilt so they don’t have to.”

“It’s _shitty_ reasoning.” she declared.

“You find a better one, you’re welcome to share.” he retorted. “Twenty-five years in, that’s the only one I’ve got.” That seemed to shut her up. She reached out for something on the coffee table and handed it to him. It took a few seconds for him to make out the shape of a bottle in the dark. “See…” he smirked, snatching the liquor, careful not to pop his stitches. “You’re an ungrateful brat but you do have your virtues.”

She rolled her eyes and stood up. She stopped on the threshold. She didn’t look back but she cleared her throat. “I’m not ungrateful.”

He supposed it was the best he would get.

He just hoped she had understood the message.


	8. Watch Yourself, Abernathy

The sharp ringing of the phone made him groan against the frayed fabric of his couch. He had insisted Peeta helped him back to his own house as soon as possible, despite Aster’s pleas that he stayed at least another day and night so she could check on him. The Everdeen’s house had become crowded. Thread and his Peacekeepers had been busy. There had been more injured people trickling by as the day had gone on. By noon, Haymitch couldn’t take it anymore and had begged out.

They had burned the Hob to the ground.

Some people hadn’t made it out in time. Others had been caught and punished according to their perceived offense. There had been more whipping, arrests, searches of some houses… No execution yet but it didn’t look good for some of the people parked in jail.

He had collapsed on his couch, on his stomach, and he had remained there, listening to his phone ringing off the hook. He didn’t have the will to drag himself to the kitchen to answer. It would hurt far too much and he wasn’t sure how to explain what was going on anyway.

_The funerals were yesterday_ , he remembered. That must have been why Effie was so determined to talk to him. That or because she was worried by his lack of answer.

Cinna and Portia’s deaths seemed so far away after everything that had happened…

The phone stopped ringing after ten minutes and it somehow made the familiar silence in the house seem louder. He kept his eyes on the window, watching as the sky grew darker and darker.

He heard the backdoor opening and closing around fifteen minutes after the phone had gone dead. There were some noises in the kitchen – things being put away in cupboards.

“You shouldn’t be out after curfew!” he shouted. That was the last thing they needed, for one of them  to be caught breaking the law yet again. He _so_ wasn’t up for another lashing.

“They’re patrolling toward the gates.” Peeta said, coming into view. “And I’m spending the night here anyway.”

He lifted his eyebrows at the confident tone. “Sorry, but the couch’s taken.”

“I’ll take the armchair.” the boy countered with a shrug, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table. “I’ve brought food too. You haven’t had lunch. Or breakfast. You can’t live on alcohol alone.”

“I can try.” he snorted and then sighed. “So. How much trouble am I in?”

To his credit, Peeta didn’t try to pretend he didn’t understand what Haymitch meant but he also decided to be a little _shit_ about it. He liked to tease Haymitch about their escort for some reason – the main one being that he wasn’t as blind as Katniss and that they may not have always been as discreet as they should have during the Tour.

“Effie called me.” the boy grinned.

“You don’t say.” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

“She was worried because you weren’t picking up.” Peeta explained, suddenly less amused. “She was… _on edge_.”

He hoped she hadn’t been stupid enough to say or do anything that could be viewed as anti-Capitol. That was the _last_ thing he needed. “You calmed her down, yeah?”

“I did my best.” the boy promised. “But… I couldn’t lie to her…”

“You could have told her I had the flu.” he snapped. “She didn’t need to know about…” He vaguely waved at his bare back. “She’s gonna worry even more now.”

“You are under strict instructions to call her as soon as you can walk around.” Peeta winced. “And… she was planning on calling Katniss next.”

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or be irritated. “Wouldn’t mind hearing that one. She’s in for a long dressing down.”

And there was nothing Effie did best than lecturing.

“Effie was… angry.” the boy confirmed. 

Effie was a train wreck he needed to stop from happening. Cinna and Portia’s deaths and the subsequent fear that _he_ would be next… He had told her to move on for a reason when they had parted after the Tour. He didn’t want her to be caught in whatever this was. He had lost a girlfriend to the Capitol, he wouldn’t lose… _whatever she was_.

And he doubted she was truly angry with Katniss. If the girl had been hurt instead of him, she would have been just as incensed, if not more. But Katniss was the safest most obvious target at the moment. He was certain he would get an earful too when he would finally get to speak to her.

“Any other news?” he asked.

Peeta hesitated a second and then shrugged again. “They closed the mine. There was too much unrest after the Hob.”

“People are gonna starve.” he commented, even if it was only stating the obvious.

The mines were the main work prospect in Twelve. Without them… There would be no money to buy food. The families in the Seam would suffer first. Children would be forced to take tesseraes. Some of them would starve anyway, the little ones… Children were always the first victims. And those who survived… When the Reaping would come, they would barely be strong enough to stand, never mind winning whatever the Capitol had in the work for the Quell. It would be particularly horrible. Quells always were.

“They’re raiding houses.” the boy added.

“What are they looking for?” he frowned.

“Honestly? Anything they can arrest someone for.” Peeta scoffed. “Proof of poaching or trafficking… I meant to talk to you about that…”

“We need to hide the booze.” he winced.

“We need _to get rid_ of the booze.” the kid corrected. “They’re _not_ kidding around, Haymitch, and I’m pretty sure they will pay you a visit sooner rather than later.”

“ _Shit_.” he spat. “Shit. Shit. _Shit_.”

He knew the boy was right but he didn’t like it. Without the Hob, there would be no easy access to liquor. He could make an official request for a shipment from the Capitol – _that_ would be legal – or he could ask Effie to send a box or two but… if they really wanted to make his life a living hell – and it seemed they were committed on that – then he wouldn’t see the bottom of a bottle anytime soon.

“I’m sorry.” Peeta offered. “But it might be for the best. We can sober you up and…”

“Yeah, my being a drunkard is _really_ not the point here.” he cut him off, pushing himself to a sitting position. He clenched his jaw against the pain but it wasn’t enough to prevent a wince.

“You don’t need to do anything.” the boy protested. “I’ll take care of it. They won’t come tonight and…”

“The booze’s only the tip of the iceberg.” he cut him off. “Go get me a shirt, yeah?”

Peeta hesitated but, in the end, he obediently ran upstairs to grab some clothes. Standing up and walking around was torture. He swallowed a few mouthfuls from a bottle of moonshine he had abandoned on the mantelpiece as he made his way to the bookshelf, thinking _fast_. He needed a place to stash everything but it couldn’t be in the house and it couldn’t be at the kids’.

He had a nice heap of books on the couch when Peeta came back with a shirt and a woolen sweater that was missing half its buttons. He answered the questioning look the boy tossed him with a dismissive wave of the hand, struggling to get dressed.

“In the study, there’s a metal box in the desk’s drawer.” he told him, still picking out forbidden volumes off his shelf. He had gathered a respectable collection over the years and he would be _damned_ if those books ended up destroyed. “The key to the drawer’s in the ugly vase next to the dead plant.”

Peeta was good enough not to ask what was in the box but he looked a little alarmed all the same.

There was nothing illegal in there _per_ _se_ but it was far too personal to let a Peacekeeper put his dirty paws all over it. There were two rings he had bought after his victory, before leaving the Capitol and learning about his family’s demise - one shaped like an iris that had been intended for his mother and the other one an engagement ring - there was the only picture of his family he had left, the pink faded ribbon that had been his token once upon a time and that he had stopped carrying around only a few years earlier, two Polaroid pictures Effie had slipped in his pocket one day that _really_ weren’t meant for eyes other than his own, a few other small mementoes… He wouldn’t let them soil his most private secrets.

“Is there anything else?” Peeta asked when he came back with the box, studying the pile of books with concern. “The books, the liquor, the box… What else?”

“Some leftovers squirrels from Katniss.” he said. “She needs to clean out her house too. They can’t find any game or…”

“She already did.” the boy said. “We agreed on that this afternoon. She won’t go hunting until it’s safe either and she will check with one of us before she does.”

He was pleasantly surprised. Maybe their chat had been useful after all.

He thought hard while they went through his kitchen, trying to find anything that could be damning evidence, and came to the conclusion that there was only one safe place to stash everything. They would search their houses but they wouldn’t search the empty ones. He exposed his plan to Peeta who nodded but he was already sweaty and nauseated from the exercising they had just done so the boy refused his help when it came to actually moving everything.

They ate the cheese buns Peeta had brought and waited until the dead of night before sneaking out. _Well_. The boy sneaked out while _he_ was left to wait.

With nothing to do and since he was up anyway, he called Effie.

Taking the time zones in consideration, it wasn’t _that_ late for her.

_“Hello?”_ she answered at the second ring, sounding downright apprehensive, as if she had been waiting next to the phone for bad news.

 “No proper way to answer the phone, that, is it?” he teased.

_“Haymitch.”_ she breathed out with obvious relief. “ _Peeta said you were incapacitated.”_

“Yeah, well… Got some motivation to move my lazy ass.” he snorted, wincing when a sudden move stretched one of the wounds.

He took a swing of the only bottle of liquor he had kept with him – it was one quarter full and it would barely be enough to stop the shakes but he would need to start rationing himself anyway. And if he couldn’t figure out a way to get his hands on liquor he would need to cut down entirely. He wasn’t thrilled about that.

_“How are you?”_ she asked. He snorted. What was the right answer to that? Like he had been tied up and whipped? She sighed. _“Yes, I suppose it is rather a stupid question. I had a talk with Katniss, you will be glad to hear. I am confident there will be no more misbehaving in the future. She fully understands the consequences of her foolishness.”_

“Yeah? Did you ground her, too?” he mocked. “Told her she couldn’t have dessert anymore?”

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. _“Why, if you are your insufferable sarcastic self, you cannot feel that bad. Peeta probably exaggerated.”_

He wasn’t sure if she truly meant it or if she was trying to convince herself.

“Probably did, yeah.” he offered. “It’s nothing, really.”

“ _I thought so.”_ Effie huffed. _“Imagine that. Punishing a victor in public like a commoner. Unthinkable.”_

“How was… the thing, yesterday?” he asked carefully.

Her breath itched but that was the only sign of distress. Her voice was cheerful, her escort persona perfectly handled. _“It was a lovely ceremony.”_ She paused and then cleared her throat. _“We have been_ assigned _a new stylist.”_

Her voice remained bubbly but the way she stressed that word told him everything. District teams weren’t _assigned_ stylists, escorts were responsible for picking them – and since nobody wanted to work for Twelve, they always ended up with the worst ones.

“Yeah?” he asked flatly. “How’s that going?”

He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, trying and failing to relieve the pain in his back. He couldn’t sit down either, it would be worse. He needed to lie back down.

_“She is… interesting.”_ she ventured. “ _She reminds me a bit of Salia, you remember I trust?”_

Oh, yeah. Salia had been their stylist for the Seventieth Hunger Games and she had been _horrible._ She had made the kids cry, had treated him like dirt and he had thought Effie would pop an aneurism dealing with her. It had ended up with their escort firing her in a very public display with an oath to ruin the woman’s reputation. She must have followed through because Haymitch had never heard about the stylist again.

“Nice.” he deadpanned.

_“Quite.”_ she replied, a tad harsher. _“As for the photoshoot I mentioned the other day? About the wedding dresses? It is off. Plutarch thinks the Quell’s announcement will be enough excitement in itself after all. It is for the best really. We do not want too much publicity. It will create an interest and it will allow us to cash on it with sponsors during the Quell.”_

There was nothing like too much publicity in the Capitol so he heard what she didn’t say. They were shutting them out. Out of sight, out of mind. They were hoping to lessen the interest for the star-crossed lovers.

“Any idea what _that_ will be about?” he asked. This time the pause she marked was not only longer but more hesitant. “Sweetheart?”

_“There is chatter between escorts and Gamemakers.”_ she answered, her voice light and as fake as it could be. “ _But it is ridiculous and I do not believe a word of it._ Nobody _can know anyway. The Quells envelopes have been sealed decades ago. Nobody can know.”_

“What’s the word?” he frowned. Whatever it was, it seemed to have her in a state. He hoped it didn’t mean more dead kids than usual.

_“Nonsense.”_ she deflected. _“It is not worth repeating because it will_ never _happen, I assure you.”_

“Effie.” he growled just as Peeta passed the back door. He gave the boy a glance over and clucked his tongue once in annoyance. He wouldn’t talk freely in front of him. “I gotta go.”

_“Very well.”_ she agreed too easily. She sounded almost relieved. _“I will call in a couple of days to check on you. Do not get into any more trouble.”_

“Sure. Night, sweetheart.” he answered distractedly before hanging up. He turned to the boy. “We’re good?”

“The books and the box are hidden in the bathroom’s cupboard two houses down the street.” Peeta answered. “I’m not telling you where I put the booze. You will need to ration it and I don’t trust you not to go on a binge.”

He argued about that until he was blue in the face but the boy wouldn’t relent. Not even when Haymitch kept grumbling about it once he was back on his stomach on the couch, complaining about how he was abusing his weakened state.

°O°O°O°

No Peacekeeper showed up at his house the next day but Aster lectured him at length about almost popping stitches and overdoing it. She was almost scarier than any squad of men in white could have been.

Days passed without anyone threatening to kick his door down. The kids took turns keeping him company, having apparently decided between themselves that he needed a bodyguard at all times. He wasn’t sure how that made sense to them because, by all accounts, _they_ were the ones who should have been the target. Maybe it was losing Cinna and Portia… Maybe it made them afraid something would happen to him.

He wasn’t sure he was glad for the company or not. He was too used to his loneliness for it to be really enjoyable but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t like the fact they obviously cared for him.

The situation outside kept getting worse but there was nothing at all they could do about it. Some people had tried to protest the unjustified closing of the mines and would probably have gotten executed as an example of what happened to people who defied the Capitol if Undersee hadn’t deployed all his skills at diplomacy. The mayor had spared them death but not a public punishment.

By that point, half the District had taken a turn at the whipping post anyway.

They were looking for any excuse they could find, apparently intending to subdue everyone through force. It was complete madness and it drove Haymitch crazy to know what was happening out there but to be helpless to stop it. He supposed it was also part of his own sentence. 

It was becoming obvious he wouldn’t get a quick exit like Cinna had. They would draw it out, give him a perfectly tailored hell for him to waste away in. A bed of ash to lie on.

The worst, by far, was the morning the Peacekeepers searched Katniss’ house, following an ‘anonymous’ tip that she might have been partaking in illegal poaching in the woods with her ‘cousin’. They didn’t find anything – they had all been very thorough in cleaning their respective houses – but it contributed to keeping everyone on edge, anxious to see what the Capitol’s next move would be.

After three days spent lying on his couch, the pain decreased enough that Haymitch started walking around again. He was restless, unable to sit still for too long. Aster kept warning him to take it easy because the wounds weren’t properly closed yet but he couldn’t help it. Dread and nervousness twisted his stomach in knots. He spent his time roaming the house, couldn’t quite focus on anything for more than five minutes, and had terrible cramps that left him bent in two.

He knew where that came from.

The headaches, the nausea and the tremors were indications enough, if anything.

Aster knew too but she was tactful enough not to voice it out loud. She conferred with the boy behind his back about it. It made him furious but there was nothing he could do about that either.

Peeta had refused to tell Katniss where he had hidden the booze because he believed she would cave to Haymitch’s pleads. Haymitch resented him deeply for that – mainly because it was probably true. The boy had self-appointed himself in charge of his alcohol consumption. He was careful about the amount of liquor he allowed him every day and he kept reducing it a little more every day.

After five days, it wasn’t enough to stop the shakes anymore.

Perhaps it was a good thing because when Head Peacekeeper Thread _finally_ showed up with a squad to “search his house under suspicion of trafficking” and came up empty handed, his claims that he had no liquor in the house were a little more believable.

He had been playing chess with Peeta when the Peacekeepers had barged in and he couldn’t place a piece down without knocking off two, he lacked dexterity. His skin had also taken a yellowish tinge that had Aster pursing her lips. He was always cold despite his brow being clammy and hot to the touch. He looked ill.

He tried not to mind when they put his house upside down. He sat there and encouraged the boy to play because it was his turn. Peeta’s jaw was locked but after a sharp glare at the Head Peacekeeper, he caught up with Haymitch’s plan and moved his knight. Haymitch could have won in two moves but he drew the game out instead.

As long as he was focusing on the chessboard, he wasn’t seeing the mess they were making. They tossed all his books on the floor to search behind the shelves, they broke vases and upturned furniture… Cupboards vomited stuff he had no idea he still had, clothes he had accumulated on his trips to the Capitol over the years mainly.

“Watch yourself, Abernathy.” Thread warned as a parting line.

“It’d be nice if they sent one with some repartee some day.” he snorted once the Peacekeepers were gone, standing up to close the door they had left open. “They’d make Brutus look like a genius.”

Peeta was already starting to pick things up. “You don’t like Brutus?”

“Sure, I do.” he protested, righting an upturned armchair and wincing a little because of his back. “He’s always willing to buy me a drink. Speaking of…”

What Peeta brought him was barely half a glass and he glared at the kid until the boy shrugged. “There’s not much left, Haymitch.”

“Then, _find_ some.” he snapped.

He knew better, of course, and so did the boy.

But it didn’t make anything easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oopsie, it seems like there's no more booze... So do you think Haymitch is going to do something stupid to get himself some liquor or will he just have to ride it out? What about Effie? Does she take the whole thing seriously or is she in denial? I can't wait to hear your thoughts! What did you think?


	9. Eternal Night

The headaches grew worse, the cramps worsened, he was running a fever and couldn’t keep still. Two more days and, when he demanded his daily dose, Peeta told him, wincing, that there was no more. He almost punched the wall in frustration and he would have stormed out straight to Ripper’s house if the kids hadn’t hold him back.

He wasn’t strong enough to resist.

It sickened him how weak he was. The muscles in his legs were having spasms, making it difficult for him to stand. When Katniss and Peeta carried him upstairs, he had no choice but to comply because he couldn’t have pushed them away if he had tried.

It was only when Katniss disappeared long enough to fetch her mother while Peeta helped him into pajamas that he realized the fever was higher than he had thought.

“You’re in withdrawals.” Aster declared, finally giving a name to the elephant in the room.

“No kidding.” he grumbled, curling up on his side. His stomach hurt bad. “Look, just let me get out and…”

He would find booze. Someone _must_ have some in that District. Or he would buy vegetables and distill them. Sure, the last time he had tried that he had almost poisoned himself but Chaff had walked him through the steps once. He had noted it down somewhere.

“Let you get yourself arrested?” Katniss scowled. “You want to end up tied up to the whipping post again?”

“Yeah, and _whose_ fault was _that_?” he snarled, trying to bat away the hands that were holding him down.

“You’re not thinking straight.” Peeta accused.

“Of course, I’m not _fucking_ thinking straight! I’m in withdrawal, idiot!” he spat, managing to shrug one of his hands off. He would have punched the boy too, if Katniss hadn’t caught his wrist and forced it back down.

“We need to cool the fever down.” Aster declared, sounding very detached and professional. “It will get worse before it gets better.”

“How worse?” Katniss asked, sounding apprehensive.

Haymitch laughed.

It was the only answer they needed.

His stomach hurt too bad and he felt too nauseous. When it became clear no one would cave and get him liquor, he curled up tighter and refused to speak to them.

_Gather strength_ , he told himself.

They were talking but he was ignoring them. He thought Aster was giving out instructions.

He didn’t need her instructions. He needed liquor.

They decided to take turns watching him, in case he got worse and needed immediate help – they were afraid he would die, was what they didn’t say out loud.

Dying didn’t look so bad right then.

He started throwing up a little after Aster and Peeta were gone. He took sadistic pleasure in seeing Katniss wrinkle her nose at the bucket she was holding for him, so ill-at-ease in the nursing role that it would have been funny if his body hadn’t been in so much pain.

“Get me some.” he begged, between two heaves. “You know where Ripper lives.”

“There are patrols everywhere.” she countered. “It’s too risky.”

“You can sneak around.” he cajoled. “You’re good at that. Hunting skills and all. Come on, sweetheart… I know you don’t hate me that much.”

“I don’t hate you at all.” she sighed. “That’s why I’m doing this. Even if I get you a bottle, what happens when it runs out?”

“I’ll think of something.” he promised. “Please, Katniss… I need it… I’m gonna die…”

“We won’t let you die.” she countered quickly.

“I’m gonna die and it’s gonna be _your_ fault.” he growled. “Just like the others.” She recoiled and, when he realized what he had said, he was horrified with himself. “I’m sorry.” He grabbed her hand, squeezing too hard, but too far gone to care. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

She still looked hurt but she swallowed it down. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry…” he kept on repeating. “I’m sorry…”

She sighed and squeezed his hand back. “This is your _own_ _fault_ , you know.”

“I know.” he chuckled bitterly, half gone. “All my _fucking_ fault.”

“You said I needed to think about my people.” she reproached. “I’m doing _just_ that. I can’t be caught trafficking. And Ripper has enough problems without us adding to it. Peeta’s right. This is the best solution.”

“Peeta’s been out for my booze since day one.” he grumbled resentfully. “Doesn’t get me like you do. You’re my favorite, you know. Can’t tell him though. Would hurt his feelings.”

“I’m still not getting you liquor.” she replied.

“Then get _the fuck_ out!” he shouted suddenly, snatching his hand back. He tried to push her away and only managed to knock out the bucket full of puke from her other hand. It clattered to the floor, the acrid smell enough to make his stomach churn again.

“I hate you.” Katniss declared. “I hate you _so much.”_

“Didn’t have to say.” he muttered. “Kinda obvious.”

He closed his eyes, listening as she cleaned everything. If nobody would get him liquor, he would need to go look for it himself. Even in his feverish state, he knew he would only have one shot at this. They would try to stop him.

He didn’t care about the Peacekeepers or the Capitol. He would think of something for that.

But he needed booze. He would die without it. They were trying to kill him. Not the Capitol. _His_ _friends_. They were trying to kill him and he wouldn’t take it lying down.

So he waited.

He waited until Peeta took Katniss’ place at his bedside, keeping to a stubborn silence that didn’t seem to bother the boy, to his own irritation. Peeta sketched and Haymitch bid his time. At some point, the kid excused himself to use the bathroom and he took his chance.

His legs weren’t steady and he was so dizzy when he stood up that he had to cling to the wall to stay upright. He knocked over the chair Katniss had placed next to the bed earlier.

“Haymitch?” Peeta called.

Faster. _Faster_.

He snatched his knife from the bedside table.

They were trying to kill him.

He needed booze.

He would need a weapon.

He walked as fast as he could, propping himself on the wall. The stairs, he understood at once, would be a challenge. But liquor was waiting outside and he needed to get down the stairs to reach it. He clung to the banister and managed to get halfway down.

He wasn’t sure what happened next.

One moment he was upright, the next he was flying.

The fall knocked the air out of his lungs. His shoulder and his side hurt. His back.

“ _Shit_.” he spat, trying to sit up. He could see the front door. Once he would reach the front door…

Hands grabbed his shoulders before he could do more than prop himself on his elbow.

“Are you okay?” Peeta worried. “What the hell, Haymitch!  You…”

He slashed out with the knife, satisfied when he heard the cry of pain. He kicked the boy’s leg from under him and gave up on standing up to crawl toward the door.

They wouldn’t have him.

He wouldn’t let them.

A hand grabbed at his ankle, dragging him back. He tried to hit his opponent again but a blow to his elbow knocked his weapon away. He tried to struggle but the boy was too strong for him and he ended up pinned to the floor on his stomach with his arms twisted behind his back and all the weight of the teenager sitting on him.

He screamed at the shot of pain in his back but the boy didn’t let him go.

“Just kill me!” he shouted, when it became obvious his opponent wouldn’t finish him quickly. They wanted to make it last. They wanted him to _suffer_.

“Nobody is going to kill you.” Peeta snapped. “Well. Katniss might if you try that with her. Damn it, Haymitch, you could have slit my throat!”

He blinked, the words sobering enough that he stopped struggling. He didn’t want to hurt Peeta. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t…

“I need it.” he begged. “You don’t get it… I need it… Not much, I swear… Just one gulp…. A glass. That’s not much, yeah? Just a glass…”

He wasn’t certain how he ended up back in his bed. He kept begging for a glass. He wasn’t fully aware of anything else. The room was full of people now and he couldn’t really tell who was real and who wasn’t. A glass would have helped with that.

“He was lucky he only reopened one gash.” Aster commented.

“He was lucky he didn’t kill Peeta.” Katniss retorted. “We need to tie him up.”

“What? No!” Peeta protested. “I’m fine. It’s just a cut. He wasn’t strong enough to do much damage.”

“And what’s going to happen next time you go to the bathroom?” the girl retorted. “He’s a threat.”

“It’s _Haymitch_.” the boy insisted.

“Yeah and he has issues!” Katniss snapped. “What if he goes out and hurts someone? What if he falls down the stairs again and breaks his neck? What if the Peacekeepers catch him and he tries to fight them? We can’t take any chances.”

“The deliriums will only increase.” Aster pointed out. “It’s not ideal but… We should make sure he can’t hurt himself.”

“By tying him up?” Peeta objected. “That’s…”

“No.” Haymitch mumbled, crawling away from the hands that were doing _he wasn’t sure what_ to his back.

“See?” the boy sighed. “We can’t…”

“We don’t have a choice.” Katniss cut him off. “It’s for his own good. Look, it’s fine, I’ll do it. If it’s too difficult for you…”

“I want to help.” Peeta replied, sounding resigned.

Haymitch didn’t completely understand what they were talking about but he knew he had to flee. They would hurt him. People were _always_ trying to hurt him.

He fought when they grabbed him.

He _tried_ to, at least.

They were too strong and he was too weak.

They got his ankles first and then his wrists.

“Calm down!” someone ordered. “You will open the wounds on your back again!”

He kept on wriggling anyway, fighting the restraints. He _hated_ being restrained.

He couldn’t tell where he was anymore.

He couldn’t…

Tied to a whipping post.

Not in control.

_Not in control_.

He screamed.

As loud as he could.

For help.

For… He wasn’t sure.

He threatened to kill them all.

He _promised_ to kill them all.

He remembered how it felt.

Not wanting to kill.

But no choice.

_No choice_.

Blade ripping through flesh.

A sickening _thrill_.

Being alive. _Alive_.

Alive when they were dead.

Primitive roar in his chest.

Hot blood on his fingers.

On his face.

On his lips.

Iron taste in his mouth.

He had puked after.

Maysilee looking out for potential threats while he emptied his stomach.

She hadn’t flinched when she had killed the boy.

Blade ripping through flesh.

Again and again.

Looking for an out but finding none.

And he was back there.

Running through the jungle, his squishy guts literally in his hands as he tried to keep them inside. _Inside_.

Then the cliff and then…

Back in his bedroom.

Pink candy birds with sharp beaks circling above his head, diving in to nip at his torn open stomach, eating him from inside while he watched. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t…

So he screamed.

_He screamed_.

His throat was raw and he was thirsty.

So thirsty.

The familiar ghosts were lurking in the corners, cheering the birds…  

“Mama.” he choked when he spotted her figure in the shadows. “Mama…” he begged. “Please, make it stop. Make it _stop_.”

Hands on his face.

Chasing the birds away.

Fingers behind his nape, something cool against his lips…

He drank eagerly. It soothed his throat but it made it difficult to stay awake.

“It’s okay, Haymitch.” someone hummed gently and, when he blinked, Prim’s face looked down at him with a soft smile. “You sleep now.”

He didn’t try to fight it.

When he woke up, everything was on fire.

Flames were licking at the ceiling, at the walls…

They reached the bed and he couldn’t move, he pulled on the bounds but they wouldn’t break.

The flames swallowed him whole.

And he screamed.

He screamed until he passed out again.

Every time he woke up, it was to more torture.

The fire ants that had eaten his first tribute alive covering his body.

The Peacekeepers and their lashing whips.

Nya and her missing eye, waving her axe like the maniac she had been, swearing she would get revenge for having killed her.

His baby brother, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with reproachful dead eyes that couldn’t see anymore.

An endless nightmare.

An eternal night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Withdrawals are no fun things. Tell me your thoughts!


	10. Scarring Nicely

Eventually, Haymitch opened his eyes and the pain was gone. His body felt as if it had been hit by a train. Every muscle was sore. But it wasn’t a bad kind of pain. It was the kind of pain that reminded you you were alive.

“The worst is over now. We untied you but we will have to restrain you again if the deliriums come back.”

He smiled at Effie when she sat on the edge of the mattress. He flexed his wrists, making sure there were no more rope.

“Always saving my ass, sweetheart.” he snorted. “Thanks.”

“I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay.” she answered. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Her fingers probed at his neck, checking his pulse. He relaxed completely, letting her grab his hand and rub a balm on his wrist where the rope had irritated the skin.

He felt safe with her there.

He watched her while she worked, taken as usual by the way her blond hair curled around her face. He loved it when she didn’t wear a wig. He loved it when her eyes twinkled in that way they always did when she was about to say something sassy enough to make him hard.

“You’re beautiful.” he said quietly when she moved to his other wrist. “Don’t tell you often enough.”

She froze and frowned a little. “Thank you.”

It sounded hesitant and he blamed himself for that. She was always a bit more insecure when she wasn’t hiding behind her make-up and her wigs. He hated that, that she felt she needed that crap to be pretty, that she thought she was somehow _less_ without it. He hated that she ever thought she wasn’t _enough,_ that she _worried_ about him getting bored with her or looking at younger women because…

“You’re hot.” he said, following his own train of thoughts. She was confused but she would catch up. She always had a knack for understanding what he was thinking without him having to spell it out. “And smart. Out of my league by a mile. Don’t know what you’re seeing in an old drunk like me.”

She cleared her throat and kept her eyes averted as she nudged him on his stomach. He rolled around without a fight.

That was the thing about Effie.

He might grumble about it but, in the end, he would do everything she wanted.

Hands probed at his back, less deft than usual.

“It’s scarring nicely.” she commented. “I’ll take the stitches out tomorrow.”

“Good. I’m gonna _fuck_ you after, then. When it doesn’t hurt anymore.” he informed her casually. “I don’t like being tied up. I’m gonna _fuck_ you. It’s gonna make me feel better.” The hands disappeared from his back as if they had been burned. He frowned, assuming she wasn’t quite on board with that. “I’m gonna make it good for you, don’t worry. I’ve missed you. You didn’t miss me?”

He was pouting and he was sure she would laugh at him but he didn’t care.   

“I don’t think I am who you think I am, Haymitch.” she answered cryptically.

He smirked and pushed himself on his back to look at her. He reached out to cup her cheek, feeling so much… _tenderness_ for her. He decided it didn’t matter if she didn’t want to have sex. He would have been happy to simply hold her in his arms, to bury his nose in her hair and breathe in her smell.

“I think you’re the one.” he told her, more serious than he had ever been. “Scares me to death too but… Can’t help it, yeah? You’re always in my head. All the _fucking_ time. Under my skin. Like an itch. Or a buzz. Or… Don’t know. Can’t get rid of you. Haven’t looked at another woman in years. Can’t bother.” He shrugged. “You’re all I want.”

She covered his hand with hers. “Just to clarify. You are _not_ talking to or about Aster Everdeen, are you?”

His brain wouldn’t make sense of that. He furrowed his eyebrows together, retracing the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. “The _fuck_ would I say that to Aster for?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That would have been awkward.”

“Effie.” he chided her, confused and annoyed. “Be serious for a second, yeah? I _missed_ you.” He leaned in to kiss her but she pushed him back to a lying position and he was too tired to do anything about that. He let out a long deep sigh but couldn’t quite get mad at her, not when she was _here._ He was glad she had come. “You’re _fucking_ annoying when you’re playing hard to get.” He smirked at her because she was smiling and he loved making her smile. “ _Minx_.”

“ _Sure_.” she chuckled, standing up.

He immediately grabbed her wrist to hold her back. “Don’t go. I need you, Princess. Don’t go.”

She hesitated and then sat back down. “I will stay until you fall asleep. But no more trying to kiss me, Haymitch.”

He sulked but curled up on his side, holding her hand close to his chest to make sure she wouldn’t flee. “I missed you, that’s all. Nice to see you didn’t.”

She hesitated again. It was odd for her to walk so much on eggshells. She was usually never hesitant about telling him things straight. “I am sure she misses you very much too.”

“Who?” he scowled. “You’re not making any _fucking_ sense today.”

“Just… Try to sleep.” she advised. “It should all be clearer in the morning.”

°o°o°o°

He didn’t remember anything in the morning.

He had a raging headache that made any noise a _fucking_ torture. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse than birds and ants trying to eat him alive. 

With the headache came a clarity he really didn’t need. He only remembered bits and pieces of the previous days but it was enough to make him bodily shudder.

“How do you feel?” Prim asked, carrying a large cup of something that smelt like herbal tea. It was only because he was so soft on the girl that she was saved from being yelled after for being so loud.

“Like crap.” he scoffed. He reached for the cup but his hand was shaking so badly half the content sloshed on the sheets and on himself. Still, he refused the girl’s help. The liquid hadn’t been hot enough to hurt him and he needed some appearance of independence. He was only too aware of what everyone had been doing for him while he couldn’t take care of himself. “How are _you,_ then?” he asked, despite the headache. He wanted to feel like a person again. People had conversations. “That boy’s still chasing after you?”

“He’s not!” she protested, her voice raising to an outraged squeak. “I told you!” He smirked and left it at that, not wanting to make her feel embarrassed. He liked teasing her about Rory Hawthorne running after her like a lost puppy but she was too good to laugh about it. “You should try to sleep some more.” she advised. “Peeta should be here soon. He said he would bring some soup for you.” The idea of eating anything was unappealing and he made a face. She placed her hands on her hips and took a scolding expression. “Now, Haymitch, you need to eat properly. You need to gain back some strength.”

He snorted, more amused than intimidated. “You’re gonna be one hell of a healer one day, kid.”

“I’m glad you think that because Mom said she would let me take some of your stitches off by myself.” she grinned.

Who was he to spoil her joy?

By the time Peeta _did_ arrive with some soup, he was mostly out of it again anyway. He was _so_ tired… He felt like he had been running around for days.

They watched him swallow his soup and he felt like a zoo animal. It was a painfully slow process. Getting the spoon from the bowl to his mouth without dropping half the liquid or hitting his cheek was harder than it had any right to be. He gave up halfway through and glared at the boy when he offered to help.

“What happened to your arm?” he asked when Prim helped him settle back down on the pillow. A thick bandage was peeking out from under the boy’s sleeve. The teenagers exchanged a look  and then the girl made herself scarce, grabbing the bowl from Peeta with a vague excuse about putting it away.  They looked _wary_ and it made him frown. “Peeta.” he growled. “The _fuck_ happened to your arm? If it was Thread again…”

He would kill the man.

Nobody touched his kids and walked.

_Nobody_.

“It was my own fault.” the boy winced. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” he insisted. “Who did that?” The soup wasn’t settling well with him. He could feel it slosh around in his stomach with the sickening feeling that… There had been an attempt at fleeing. He had thought… “ _Fuck_ …”

“It’s nothing.” Peeta said in a hurry. “ _Really_. You didn’t know what you were doing and I was careless. I should have known better.”

He should have known to be scared of his mentor stabbing him with his knife?

Haymitch looked down at his hands, at the marks around his wrists, feeling nauseous. “You did right tying me up.”

“It was for your own safety.” Peeta said awkwardly. “I knew you would hate it but…”

“You did right.” he cut him off firmly. “I’m gonna sleep now. I don’t need a minder anymore. Go out. Live your life.”

“Haymitch…” the boy hesitated.

He already had his back turned to him. He stared at the wall until Peeta sighed and left the room. Once he was sure he was alone, he passed a hand on his face and gave up on pretending he didn’t hate himself. _Nobody hurt his kids and walked_. He felt disgusted.

With himself.

With the things in his head.

How was he going to cope? How was he going to survive without liquor?

Withdrawal was scary but what would come now was terrifying. He didn’t know how to live without it anymore. He didn’t know how he would… This was _too much_. Entirely too much.


	11. Ghost Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify something: this is a Haymitch centric story. While I am aware of his flaws and try to write him accordingly, the aim here isn't Haymitch bashing. If you hate Haymitch, it's your opinion and it's fine with me, but this is not the place for you to share that hatred because I happen to love him and I doubt this is the story for you. So thank you for being respecful of that =)

Haymitch tried to fall asleep but the voices in his head wouldn’t shut up. The ghosts lurking in his mind were hungry and he didn’t have anything to dull their presence. Guilt and shame and sorrow… It all twisted and mixed in a deadly brew.

He remained sullen and apathetic when they finally took the stitches on his back out and he didn’t really acknowledge it when they told him he had been out for almost five days.

Five days seemed too little a time for the hell he had just been through but at the same time it seemed like too much.

He was lost, he wasn’t feeling quite like himself and he didn’t like it. He hated being that unsettled. He hated being _diminished._ The fact that he needed help to do simple things – like walk to the bathroom and back – was making him feel ashamed and Peeta’s forced casualness about it – while appreciated – only increased that feeling.

“You were never alone.” the boy whispered one evening. “Sometimes it looked like… It looked like you didn’t know that but… We never left you alone.”

It occurred to him that the boy felt guilty about forcing him through sobriety. He wished he knew how to tell him it wasn’t his fault but finding the right words to voice _feelings_ had never been his strongest suit.

Katniss, on the other hand, didn’t seem to feel guilty at all. When she visited, she looked exactly just as on edge as he felt trapped in that bed.

“What’s wrong with you?” he grumbled after three days of watching her pacing a hole in his bedroom.

“The electric fence is back on.” she muttered, kicking the foot of the bed. “There’s no getting out now. We should have run when we had the chance.”

“Yeah, who’s that _we_?” he taunted, pretty sure of the answer. Peeta would never suggest running away. It wouldn’t even _occur_ to the boy. Gale Hawthorne, now…

She flushed red and then scowled at him. “Oh, _shut up_.”

He rubbed his face, too exhausted for this _bullshit_. “How many conversations do we need to have about this?”

“I didn’t see him since he went back home with his mom.” she snapped. “I won’t see him again, alright? I got it.”

“Halle- _fucking_ -lujiah.” he deadpanned.

“I’m glad it makes you so happy.” she sneered. “I’m going to marry someone I don’t love just so…”

“Peeta’s not your first choice, yeah, I got it.” he cut her off. “You think _he_ doesn’t know? Let me tell you something, though. That boy loves you. _I’ll-die-for-you_ loves you. That’s rare, sweetheart, and that takes courage. You’re spitting on that. Nobody’s asking you to be happy with the cards you’ve been dealt but maybe show some common decency, yeah? ‘Cause if you think Peeta’s any happier about this wedding than you are, you’re wrong. He’s just not making a scene about it every chance he gets like some spoiled toddler.”

She glared at him and stormed out, making sure to slam every door she could on her way out.

It did nothing for the permanent headache building behind his eyes.

He was sick and tired of lying in bed so he dragged himself to the shower. Like everything else lately, it was harder than it should have been. It was a struggle to reach the bathroom, it was as if his legs were out of practice. His muscles clenched and relaxed without any input from his brain.

He held onto the sink to keep himself upright and took a good long look in the mirror. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, pale complexion that looked less than healthy, beard eating half his face, tangled hair…

He had lost weight too.

He didn’t try to catch a glimpse of what his back now looked like. The scars wouldn’t be pretty and he didn’t feel he needed the visual. With a sigh, he accepted that he would never manage to stand long enough for a proper shower. He ran himself a bath instead.

He was completely exhausted by the time he lowered himself in the hot water. It wasn’t that bad a place to take a nap anyway. He washed himself quickly, feeling better once the grime of the last week was gone, and then he slumped down in the water, resting his head against the side of the tub.

He woke up with a crick in the neck and Peeta looking down at him.

He startled. Whatever foam had been in the water had long disappeared and, while he was aware the boy had been his main caretaker while he was out of it, it still made him feel awkward to be caught naked in his own bathtub.

“You mind giving a man some privacy?” he scowled.

“I’m sorry.” Peeta made a face. “You weren’t answering and I grew worried.”

“Well, I didn’t drown. Get out.” he growled.

“Yes, of course.” the boy nodded. “You’re sure you don’t need help?” He tossed the soap at the kid’s head who ducked and then lifted his hands in mock surrender. “ _Fine_. I’ll be downstairs. You can shout when you want something to eat.”

He was so _done_ with being coddled.

He hauled himself out of that bath, resolved to go back to some semblance of normalcy. He brushed his teeth for a good ten minutes, hoping it would get rid of the bad taste lingering in his mouth, and then considered the mess that was his hair. Shaving it all seemed the most practical solution but once the razor was in his hand, he wasn’t _that_ sure anymore. The tremors weren’t as bad as when he had first woken up from his delirium a few days earlier but nobody would have been able to claim his hands were anywhere near _steady_.

He tried shaving his beard first with mildly successful results. He left uneven patches of stubble behind and more than a few cuts. He looked like a clumsy teenager after his first shave and he rolled his eyes at himself, giving up on the idea of doing anything to his hair.

_Whatever_.

He put on the first pair of sweatpants he found and slipped on the thickest woolen sweater he owned. The smell in his bedroom was awful and he opened the window, leaning out to breathe some fresh air. It smelt like spring. He hated that season. Spring meant a new reaping.

It also meant he had survived longer than he had expected to when Cinna had told him Thirteen had bailed out.

He was starting to think they _really_ weren’t going to off him after all, just make his life a living hell. 

The bed was a mess of dirty sheets even by his own standards so he changed it, grateful for the fresh linens Hazelle had stocked in the closet.

He was bone-deep tired when he was done with that and he was sure Aster would have had something to say about overdoing it but he pushed himself all the same and forced himself to walk down the stairs and to the kitchen where Peeta was doing… _whatever_ with his oven. Something was boiling on the stove, smelling rather good, and his stomach grumbled.

“Should you be up?” the boy worried.

“Probably not.” he muttered, dropping on a chair. “So… What did I miss?”

“Not much.” Peeta shrugged, filling two plates of stew. It was mostly vegetables, Haymitch noticed, no meat. He was hungry but the idea of eating made him nauseous. He had long been conditioned to eat what was in front of him though, used to not knowing when the next hot meal would come. It had been a long time since he had had to worry about food but there were things that never went away. He stabbed a carrot with a fork without too much effort and it would probably have been impressive if he hadn’t been aiming for the turnip next to it. The thing in the oven turned out to be bread and Peeta distractedly cut the loaf in two while he talked. “They reopened the mines.”

“Good.” he commented with relief.

“But they cut down the wages in half.” the boy added with a wince.

“Less good.” he sighed, shaking his head. It would be a disaster in the long run.

He wondered if the same thing was happening in other Districts or if it was just them. He wondered if it was the Capitol’s way of reminding everyone of its strength or if it was meant as a punishment for Twelve’s victors.

“Thread likes Dad’s bread.” Peeta declared, almost out of the blue. “Mom tried to give it to him for free but he started talking about how bribes wouldn’t be accepted…”

“They’re alright?” he frowned.

Peeta stared at his plate rather than looking at him, never quite at ease when it came to talking about his family. “You know Mom. She can get out of anything.” He shrugged. “I guess we know Thread likes bread.”

“Great. What’s the plan, bread boy? Poison his next loaf?” Haymitch snorted, stabbing another carrot – one he had aimed for, this time. “You’ve got better plans usually. Sounds like something Katniss would come up with.”

“Well…” Peeta let his sentence trail off.

“Should have known.” he scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “That girl’s a menace. Talk her out of that, it’s the last thing we need.” They ate in silence for a while, lost to their own thoughts. It was only once he was cleaning the sauce on his place with his piece of bread that he talked again. “How’s the arm?”

Peeta’s sleeves were rolled up on his forearms, free of any bandage, but Haymitch could see the reddish line on his skin.

The knowledge that _he_ had been the one to do that…

“It’s fine. _Really_.” the boy offered. “I didn’t even need stitches.”

His grey eyes remained on his now empty plate. “Sorry.”

It wasn’t a word he said too often.

“You don’t need to…” Peeta started.

“Yeah, I do.” he cut him off, looking up at him.

The expression on the boy’s face looked a bit too much like pity for his taste. “Then, I forgive you.”

Haymitch cleared his throat and stood up to clear the table. Just because it was something to _do_. He still wasn’t sure his legs would hold his weight but he tried to ignore that small fact like he liked to ignore his biggest problems.

“Effie called twice.” Peeta announced.

The dirty dishes clattered in the sink more brutally than Haymitch had meant to. “What did you tell her?”

“That she could do whatever color theme she wanted for the wedding?” the boy joked. “She wanted your opinion. And she wanted to know if you would like to give Katniss away.”

He _highly_ doubted that was what Effie had really been after.

“You told her about…” he hesitated.

“No.” Peeta shook his head. “I wasn’t sure how much was safe to say on the phone.”

He shouldn’t have been impressed by the boy’s foresight. Peeta had proven himself quick on the uptake before. But he was a little bit all the same.

“Smart.” he agreed, leaning back against the counter to watch the kid. “So what was I doing that was so important I couldn’t talk to her?”

“I told her you weren’t in the mood to chat.” Peeta winced. “She wasn’t really happy.”

“You don’t say.” he sighed. There would be hell to pay about that probably.

“I’m not sure at what time the Quell’s announcement is.” the boy said. The switch of topic threw him a little because he had forgotten about that. He made quick calculations of how much time he had spent completely cut off the world and concluded the announcement should take place in two days time. Too soon. He wasn’t ready to spend two months agonizing over whatever sick twist the Capitol would play on his next tributes – if he lived long enough to witness it – all the more so without liquor. “You could call her to ask.”

The suggestion made him lift his eyebrows and a smirk stretched his lips. “Careful, boy. You’re becoming really good at scheming. Must be my awesome influence.”

Peeta dismissed that with an amused shrug and left before curfew, after making sure Haymitch would be fine on his own. He _wasn’t sure_ that he would be fine on his own but he was sick and tired of being treated like an invalid so he hurried in kicking the boy out.

Then he grabbed the phone, his eyes automatically darting around for a bottle of liquor because he usually drank while she talked his ear off. Habits were hard to break. And he would still have killed for some booze.

The line rang for the longest time before she picked up and her voice was lost to a loud music and the sound of laughter and conversations. She must have been giving a party.

“ _Effie Trinket, speaking.”_ she answered cheerfully.

“You’re drunk.” he accused. She had her drunk voice.

_“Tipsy, actually.”_ she retorted, quite frosty. _“How good of you to finally find me worth talking to. Unfortunately, I am currently busy and it is of the utmost rudeness for a hostess to ignore her guests so… What did you want?”_

He hated it when she took that petulant entitled tone. He was doubly annoyed because he actually enjoyed hearing the sound of her voice. He missed her. It came out like a pang in his chest.

He missed her.

Not that he could tell her.

Not that he _should_.

It _really_ was the worst time to realize that _maybe_ …

“What time’s the announcement again?” he asked. “We can’t remember.”

_“Eight pm for us. So… Ten pm for you._ ” she answered casually. “ _As your TV would have told you if you had bothered turning it on. They are advertising it everywhere.”_

“Not much one for TV.” he reminded her. “I’ll leave you to your fun.”

_“I was not expecting any apologies for your atrocious behavior but you could_ at least _sound a little more contrite.”_ she huffed.

“Believe it or not, I’ve got other things to do with my day than listening to you prattle about a _fucking_ wedding.” he snorted.

_“Awful man.”_ she snapped. _“I will_ never _understand why you take so much pleasure in hurting my feelings.”_

“Cause it’s so easy it’s almost no fun.” he retorted. The argument was so familiar he didn’t even need to think about his replies. They had played that scene a thousand times before.

_“I am glad it amuses you. Now if you will excuse me, there is a charming gentleman right here who wishes to court me and I am of a mind to let him.”_ she snapped.

“Make sure he’s rich first.” he taunted.

She huffed and then the line rang dead.

He was irritated with her stupidity. Couldn’t she have understood than bigger things were happening? Had she already forgotten about Cinna and Portia?

Or was she simply playing it that way to fool everyone?

It was the problem with her. She was too good at the game. Sometimes, he couldn’t really tell.

She didn’t call the next day or the day after that and it left him in a sour mood.

He pretended really hard that it had nothing to do with images of _charming gentlemen_ sweeping her off her feet with roses, champagnes and clever declarations of love he wouldn’t have had the first clue about professing. He pretended that the thought of her with another man, in another man’s arms, in another man’s bed wasn’t enough to make him seething mad with jealousy. He pretended he still believed she was nothing more than an easy go-to lover.

Mostly, he failed and made everyone around him pay for it with harsh words and snappish retorts.

Aside for his irritability, he felt better though. The more he moved around, the less sluggish he felt. The headache never really went away and the tremors could be bad but his stomach stopped being so upset and he wasn’t scared of collapsing after two steps anymore.

On the morning of the quell’s announcement, he followed Katniss around the District. It was his first time leaving the Village since Thread’s arrival. Almost three weeks. To say he was apprehensive would have been putting it mildly but he kept a detached expression and made a lot of stupid jokes sorely to annoy the girl.

Annoying Katniss was _almost_ as satisfying as annoying Effie.

He had been anxious about how people would behave with him. He didn’t want their pity. So many people had ended up victimized by the Peacekeepers that his whipping was old news though. Nobody even _blinked_ at seeing him walking around. They were too used to his hermit behavior. It wasn’t the first time he had remained holed up in his house for weeks at a time. Nobody had ever ventured to the Village to check if he was still alive before and there was no reason for that to change, all the more so now that the kids were there. It might have hurt him a little that people so obviously didn’t care but he pushed that aside. They were right not to. He didn’t deserve it. What had he ever done for them anyway?  Aside for having a new trigger happy Head Peacekeeper appointed, that was.

Twelve looked like a ghost town.

People were hurrying from point A to point B. There was no lingering in the street, no chatting with neighbors… Everyone was tossing frightful glances around, studying everyone else with suspicion… There was also a nervousness in the air that he attributed to the closeness of the announcement. People were dreading to know what would happen to their children, he figured, and with reason.

The Third Quarter Quell…

Seventy-five years of Games… In retrospect, it seemed almost arrogant of him to have thought he could put a stop to that. The Capitol was a monster he was too weak to defeat. It would have taken a hero and he was nothing of the sort. Katniss could have. Maybe. Or she could have, at least, looked the part.

They stopped at the apothecary – the reason for the trip in the first place – and grabbed everything Aster had put on her list. They circled back by the meadow to go home and Katniss looked beyond the electric fence with longing. The humming sounded loud in the unnatural fearful hush that lingered on the District.

She missed the woods, he knew, missed the freedom she found there.

Just like he missed his booze.

He didn’t try to offer any empty words but he nudged her shoulder with his.

She nudged it back.

They didn’t need to talk about it, they understood each other, he thought.

He declined the offer to dine at her house and trudged back to his own, short of breath and almost drunk on all the fresh air he had just gotten.

He waited all day for the phone to ring.

It didn’t.

_Fuck her_ , he mused, his mood darkening with each hour that passed.

He was restless. His foot tapping the floor impatiently, his eyes darting between the book on his lap and the TV, waiting for it to start… He clutched a glass of water just because the simple act of holding one in his hand was a little soothing. Maybe his brain thought it was liquor, maybe it was just habit. All that was certain was that he thought better when his fingers were wrapped around a glass.

His heart was beating uncomfortably hard in his chest as he waited for the stupid program to end and for the announcement to start.

He wanted to know what they were going to face, what their tributes would be in for.

He would need to start prepping the kids for what mentoring entailed and he wasn’t looking forward to _that_.

When Panem’s anthem finally rang, he wished time could freeze.

He realized he wasn’t ready for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite the phone reunion Haymitch was expecting ^^ So, the announcement... How do you think it's gonna go? What did you think of this chapter?


	12. A True Victor

His ears kept ringing long after Snow’s face had disappeared from the screen.

His hand was empty of the glass he had just been holding and he realized, belatedly, that he had thrown it at the wall, missing the screen by two inches. It laid, shattered, on the floor.

_Shattered_.

Someone laughed and it took him a few minutes to understand it was him. He laughed until his side hurt and tears ran down his face.

And, then, abruptly, as quickly as it had started, the laughter stopped.

_On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors._

He wanted to throw up.

He bowed down in two and took long deep breaths that did nothing for the anarchic beating of his heart or for the nausea.

_Cannot overcome the power of the Capitol._

This was Snow’s revenge. This was why Haymitch was still alive when Cinna was dead. It wouldn’t be just Haymitch. It would be Katniss too. And enough of the victors to remind them all of where they stood in the food chain. It was a direct message to the Districts. The Capitol could kill their champions. It was…

It was the perfect answer to a failed coup.

Obvious enough for those who knew, not open enough to trigger reactions from those who didn’t.

Most District people would be _relieved_ even. It meant that they didn’t need to fear for their children that year. He might be able to find comfort in that small mercy later on. For now…

For now, he couldn’t quite process it.  

_Reaped from their existing pool of victors…_

Katniss, for sure.

But not only.

_Friends_.

Twelve was the only District with so few victors but there were others… How many were there in Eleven, for instance? Five? Two of them being elderly. It didn’t bode well for his best friend either. And even if Chaff managed to slip through… He knew all the victors. Some better than others, true, but he knew them all. Even the Careers… Some of them he had no sympathy for, others he liked to think he was on friendly terms with.

He knew those people.

Every single one of them.

How _fucked up_ was this?

Was it Heavensbee’s idea? Was _that_ the suggestion that had convinced Snow of his loyalty and had saved his head? Tossing the victors back in their personal hell?

_The arena_.

The arena and its luring treacherous beauty. The emerald green grass, the deep blue water, the sweet smelling colorful flowers… The candy pink birds. Maysilee choking on her own blood. The volcano erupting in a rain of lava, the smell of sulphur in the air. Nya and her missing eye chasing after him to finish him, to _win_. The gut wrenching fear in the launching pod. The voice in his head pushing him on, reminding him that Hayden and his mother were waiting for him at home, that they would eventually starve if he died there, that Mabel would be there to welcome him back with her soft lips and her secretive smile. The voice telling him it was all worth it. Lives taken. Lives lost. All worth it for the certainty of holding all of them in his arms again, to melt in their embrace, to hear them say they loved him again.

A lie.

All a lie.

A trap.

_Couldn’t go back._

_Wouldn’t go back._

Fear was paralyzing.

He was sixteen again.

Listening to his name ringing out in the Square, last to be called by the Capitol clown on the stage. Being nudged forward by his friend because he was taking too long to move and it wouldn’t look good, it never looked good when they tried to run and the Peacekeepers had to chase after them. Pushed in that room in the Justice Building, intimidated by the place despite himself because he had lived his whole life in the Seam and this was the wealthy part of town. Trying to look strong for his mother, for his brother… Losing it with Mabel because she wasn’t just his girl but his best friend, had been since they had learned to talk, and he was _freaking out_. The words she had murmured in his ear until he had calmed down, learned how to breathe normally again, words he couldn’t remember at all even though their rhythm was branded in his memory like a distorted melody.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Words he had offered to all of them like a confident gift, a promise.

He was sixteen again.

He was sixteen again and his ears were ringing…

“Haymitch.”

His name was quiet and it made the ringing stop. He looked up at the boy standing on his living-room’s threshold. Peeta was paler than usual but there was a determined tightness to the line of his mouth, a tension in his shoulders.

And suddenly Haymitch was back to himself. If felt a lot like falling. He fell through memories that seemed so real he could almost touch them and back to his tired weakened body.

A forty year old man who was responsible for two kids and couldn’t afford to be paralyzed by fear.

“We need to talk.” Peeta declared, all tough, just like when he had confessed his feelings the year before, before the interviews, and had told him he intended to see Katniss out of that arena.

Peeta was the best of them. Haymitch had always known that.  

“Yeah.” he said. His voice sounded rough, _raw_ , to his own ears and he cleared his throat. “I guess we do.”

He gestured at the armchair but Peeta declined with a shake of his head. The boy took a few steps toward the fireplace and remained there, in the middle of the room, a commanding presence. The charisma was good, Haymitch noted, Effie could work with that.

“We’re going to make sure Katniss wins this.” the boy said.

No surprise there.

No question either.

“Alright.” he agreed.

He was a bit impressed with himself for not even hesitating. He had thought his own survival instinct was stronger than that. But maybe he had developed another instinct in the last year. An even stronger one. An instinct that commanded him to save those kids by any mean necessary.  

“Well, that was easy.” Peeta said. The boy let out half a bitter chuckle. “I thought you would fight me at least a little about it first.”

“What’s there to fight about?” He opened his arms wide and let them fall back to his side. “We get Katniss out. You two crazy kids can have a very long life together. Pretty sure she doesn’t want kids of her own but maybe if you ever get a dog you can name it after me. That’ll make for a good joke, too. Caesar will love that. It’s important to be funny, you know. Helps with sponsors.”  He licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. “ _Fuck_ , I need a drink.” This was a lot to take in without the help of alcohol. His hands were shaking but he forced himself to slouch further in the couch instead of pacing the room like he wanted to, look casual. _Detached_. Like this was no big deal. “We’re done? ‘Cause I’d like to do some cursing in peace now.”

Peeta was frowning. “ _You’re_ not going. _I_ ’m going.” 

“Ah. _That_ fight.” he snorted, studying him. He understood the projected confidence and determination better now. Peeta wasn’t there to ask him to die. Of course not. It would have been _too easy_. “No, kid.”

“You _owe_ me.” the boy snapped. “You chose Katniss last year so you _owe_ me. And that’s _what I want_. I will go in there and…”

“And get yourself killed for her?” he scoffed. “I’m curious. What’s the plan here? You die so she doesn’t have to marry you and she’s free to be with that other boy she doesn’t even know she actually likes? Or you hope that, _then,_ she’s finally gonna understand that you’re the good guy? ‘Cause that’s _stupid_. Either way? You’re gonna be very dead and she’s gonna be very unhappy.”

“You think I want to die? I just want _her_ to _live_!” the kid shouted, eyes suddenly brighter. He clenched his jaw and forced his voice down. “I can help her win.”

“Sure, you can. And you _will_.” he shrugged. “Out there. You’re gonna charm the pants off sponsors – _not_ literally if possible – and you’re gonna make sure she’s got everything she needs to live another day.”

“Oh, come on, Haymitch!” Peeta snapped. “Let’s not pretend you care for me enough to volunteer if…”

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare.” he spat. “I’ll volunteer. And I’ll punch you if you try to do the same thing. Don’t think I won’t.” They glared at each other until he shook his head. “You want to save Katniss. I can save you both. That’s the way to go.”

“No.” the boy protested. “If I go in there, I can make sure…”

He was out of the couch in a flash, not as swiftly as he would have liked but faster than Peeta had been expecting. He grabbed the kid’s arm and gave it a firm shake.

“ _Listen_ to me.” he hissed. “ _Fucking_ listen to what I’m saying. There won’t be any more tricks. There won’t be any miraculous save. Only one person is coming out of that arena and if you think for one _fucking_ second I’m gonna stand by and let both of you go in when I can _stop_ it…” It wasn’t convincing the boy. Not at all. He could read it on his face, plain as day, set in his damned stubbornness, his damned tendency at playing the knight in shining armor. Haymitch would never be much of a knight but he could probably be a good rook – knock everyone out of the way, clear a path, protect Katniss long enough for her to cross the chessboard. “I won’t be _any help_ out there. Remember Cinna and Portia’s _accident_? I got out of that one _easy_ , you hear what I’m saying?” He gave him another shake. “I’m _blown_ in the Capitol for sure. Doesn’t matter how they’ll do it but I’m pretty sure no sponsor will deal with me. I’ll be _useless_ , boy. That’s _my accident._ I get to watch _you_ die.”

Peeta was staring straight into his eyes, searching for the lies, always mistrustful because he and Katniss had hidden too much.

“You don’t know…” the boy argued, a touch less confident.

It was all Haymitch needed. An in.

“ _Yeah_ , I do.” he chuckled. It almost sounded hysterical. He adjusted his grip on the boy’s arm, relaxed his fingers enough that they wouldn’t leave bruises. “I _fucking_ do.”

“Even so…” Peeta shook his head. “I don’t know anything about mentoring. Even if…”

“Effie will take care of the practical stuff.” he cut him off. “ _Hell_ , she’s better at mentoring than I am. She practically got the two of you out by herself last year.” That was a gross exaggeration. But Effie _was_ good. And she could do this. She _would_ do this. “You just need to trust her and follow her lead. You’re half of the star-crossed lovers. Sponsors are gonna eat in your hand. They’re all gonna be rooting for you.”

“If I go in, I can _protect_ her.” the boy pleaded.

“You think I wouldn’t have her back?” he sneered. “You think I’d turn on her?”

Peeta didn’t answer at once and it was almost insulting. Haymitch dropped his hands and stepped back, his sneer deepening. He _was_ a despicable man on a lot of accounts. But he would have _never_ …

“No.” the kid said quietly. “But I’m stronger.”

He hadn’t just spent weeks in withdrawals, he meant.

Although Haymitch supposed _that_ had been a blessing in disguise. Withdrawals in an arena… That wouldn’t have been fun. And it would have made him an amusing spectacle for the wolves. He would have hated that. He had been a joke for most of his life, he hoped his death would carry a little more meaning than that.

Not that there was ever any meaning in death.

“You’re missing a leg.” he reminded him. He didn’t feel bad about the flash of pain and shame that passed on the boy’s face. It was a fact. The crude and honest truth. And speaking of truths… “You know what’s going to happen, kid? You’re gonna volunteer, you’re gonna go into that arena and she’s gonna realize she loves you at the worst possible moment.”

“Yeah, _that_ ’s going to happen.” Peeta scowled.

“Yeah. It will.” he laughed bitterly. “’Cause that’s the kind of person she is. It’s the kind of things she’ll figure out _too late_.” A bit like when he had held Effie until dawn on the last night of the Tour. A bit like… He rubbed his face. “You know the worst? It’s gonna make the Capitol’s day too. Tragic end to a tragic love story. You go in there and you die, you let them win.”

“I wanted to be more than a piece in their game.” the boy whispered sadly.

“Then _be_ more.” he almost begged.

“If I let you go in there for me, they win too.” Peeta countered. “I let them win.”

“No.” he objected. “’Cause this Quell… That’s _my_ game. Not yours. It’s my own _fucking_ fault. I tried…” He let his sentence trail off and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You said I owe you. I _do_. I chose her last year, I’m choosing both of you this year.”

“Haymitch…” the kid said, his voice breaking a little.

It was tempting and the boy was tempted.

Haymitch understood that very well because _he_ was tempted to. Accept the teenager’s offer, promise to stay out of the arena whatever happened… If he had thought _for one second_ that there was any hope of getting _both_ of them out of there, if he had thought _for one second_ that he would have been more useful out there… If there had been _any_ guarantee…

_If Thirteen hadn’t left them all to hang…_

“You know what the smart thing to do is, Peeta.” he insisted. “And you know what Katniss is gonna say once she pulls her head out of her ass. How long do you think before she gets here and asks me to die for you?”

“She won’t.” the boy denied.

“Wanna bet?” he snorted but he wasn’t amused and he didn’t pretend to be for long. “I’m an old man. Whatever _shitty_ life I had is behind me.”

Peeta ran both his hands in his hair and tugged a little at the roots, clearly distressed. “It’s not fair. I can’t ask you…”

“You’re not asking.” Haymitch cut him off. “You’re not asking and you’re not carrying that guilt. My choice.” The boy stared at him, breathing hard, so Haymitch went on. “We need you to be out there. For _Katniss_. That’s the best way you can protect her.”

Peeta turned around and paced back and forth, retracing the path from the couch to the bookshelf a few times. “What about Effie?”

The question took him a little aback. “Told you. She’s the best. She can…”

“That’s not what I mean.” the boy interrupted him, not unkindly. “You _know_ what I mean.”

_What about Effie?_

He felt a pang of sadness only _thinking_ about her. What she would have to go through… It was hard for her when it was children she had only known for two weeks. Watching _friends_ go in there… Watching _him_ …

Oh, it would _kill_ her.

Just like it would have killed him if he had been staying behind.

But she would do her job and she would do it well. He trusted her implicitly. She was the best escort out there and everyone knew it. Every other victor had put a request for her at one point or another. The only reason she was still in Twelve was that she was the only one who had ever been able to talk some sense into him and make him somehow behave.

“Effie’ll put Katniss first.” he promised. “She…” He rolled his eyes. “Do I _really_ need to spell this out, boy? We _care_ about the two of you in case you didn’t notice. Both of us. We have our priorities straight.”

Peeta stopped pacing to study him once more, wary. “She’s your…” His sentence was left in suspension either out of tact or because he wasn’t sure what term to use. The boy cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Are you sure you’re ready to…”

He appreciated what the kid was trying to say, to _ask_ , but it was a pointless line of enquiries.

“She’s Capitol.” he said quietly.

“What does it have to do with anything?” Peeta scoffed. “It’s _Effie_. She’s much more than just her citizenship. She’s…”

“ _Capitol_.” he finished before the teenager could launch into a speech on her qualities and flaws. He was intimately acquainted with each and every one of them. “I know everything’s about love at your age but for some people sex is just sex. It’s just a fling. Could never be anything _but_ that.”

They didn’t belong in the same world.

And it would have been a selfish waste to save his own skin for something that had been doomed from the start.

Peeta nodded thoughtfully – not really convinced, he suspected, but maybe understanding the lie was a necessary one.

He and Effie had no future whatsoever.

The boy swallowed hard. “Are you _sure_?”

“That I want to go back to an arena?” he mocked. “What kind of _fucking_ stupid question is that?” 

“That you want to die for me.” Peeta clarified. “For Katniss.”

He didn’t let himself hesitate. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

The boy slouched a little, as if a weight had just settled on his shoulders. He looked older all of a sudden, older and exhausted. Lost.

A true victor.

Haymitch had won the argument but he found no joy in it. He wasn’t twisted enough for that.

“Go home.” he told the kid. “Get some rest.”

“What are you going to do?” Peeta asked in a small voice. That was a very good question but the sharp ringing of the phone answered that for him. The boy flashed him a small sad smile. “Tell her _hi_ for me.”

Haymitch waited until the boy had slipped through the backdoor to put his shaking hand on the phone. He took a deep breath before answering. “Took you long enough, sweetheart.”


	13. No Good Answer

They had yet to say more than two words to each other.

Haymitch was sitting on his kitchen floor, holding the phone to his ear, listening to her breathing. As far as phone calls went, this one was damning. Not that it mattered anymore, he figured. Not that _anything_ mattered anymore.

He didn’t suggest they hung up and he didn’t try to lure her into a conversation.

It was almost peaceful, truth be told, sitting there with her breath in his ear. It was like being wrapped in a bubble. Out of time. He could pretend the rest of the world had frozen and it was just them. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine they were in bed, her warm body pressed tight against his, her mouth against his neck, her breath rolling on his skin…

He was _aching_ for her skin.

Maybe even more than he was aching for liquor.

Her breath itched and he heard her lick her lips. He brushed his fingers against them in the privacy of his own mind, retraced the shape of her mouth…

_“There was chatter.”_ she whispered at last, shattering his peaceful illusion. He crashed back into reality with a sigh. _“I did not want to believe any of it. It seemed… Outrageous. Victors are supposed to be the untouchable ones. This goes against every unspoken rule we have. Valeria tried to warn me, I did not believe her. She was worried about Brutus. You know.”_

He did. It was a small world and rumors were always rampant. There had been just as many speculations about Brutus and Two’s escort as there had been about the two of them. Except Brutus was married so it made the whole thing even more scandalous. And _they_ didn’t spend their time arguing in public so it also made it a little less improbable.

“Nobody’s untouchable.” he countered tiredly. He played with the handle of his knife, not quite sure when he had taken it out of his belt. He weighed it in his palm, wondered if he would still know how to use it, if he was still _capable_ of wielding it knowing the price it required. 

_“I suppose not…”_ Her voice trailed off. She sounded tired too. Defeated, perhaps. She would be back to her cheerful self soon enough, he figured, for the kids’ sake if nothing else. _“How are you doing?”_

He stretched his legs in front of him, his knees popped and cracked, and he chuckled. Not because he was amused. Oh, no. But because he was an old man whose knees popped and cracked and, chances were, half the people in the Quell would be younger, _swifter_.

Maybe not as clever though.

_“Yes, it is rather an idiotic question, my apologies.”_ she sighed before he could give an actual answer. _“Some people are angry, you know. The Capitol loves victors. This… This is_ not _right.”_

“Effie.” he chided her.

_“I know, I know, but… When I think about the children…”_ Her voice broke and she took a deep breath. _“It is_ not _right. They deserve more. So much more.”_

“Might still get it.” he shrugged.

It was her turn to chuckle without any humor. _“Yes, you will forgive me if I do not find_ that possibility _to be a comfort.”_

He rubbed his face. “Sweetheart…”

_“No.”_ she snapped.

The back door opened before he could say anything else. Katniss looked like a drowned rat. He didn’t know where she had been hiding but she looked frozen to the bone. Her hand was closed into a fist, there was crusted blood on her knuckles and her wrist. She also looked grim and determined, not unlike the boy earlier.

He almost laughed.

He was always right. 

“Finally did the math, did you, sweetheart?” he mocked.

_“What?”_ Effie frowned.

“Not you.” he said. “Gotta go.” He hauled himself up and hung up, turning to look at the girl. “Worked out you won’t be going in alone? And now you’re here to ask me… what?” She remained silent and he shook his head at her, his tone becoming nastier, mocking as he imitated her. “‘ _Take his place, Haymitch, because all things being equal, I’d rather Peeta had a crack at the rest of his life than you?_ ’ He was in here in five minutes, you know. While you were out there, thinking only about yourself, he was _here_.”

She looked down, her confidence gone faced with his harsh words. “I came for a drink.”

“Out of luck there.” he taunted. “Sit down. Let me take a look at that hand.”

He waited until she had taken a chair to inspect her palm. She had cut herself on something but it didn’t look very deep. He grabbed a clean dishcloth from the cupboard and passed it under the tap.

“Maybe it should be you.” she said flatly. “You hate life, anyway.”

“Very true.” he snorted. She winced and recoiled when he cleaned the gash but he kept her hand firm in his. “And since last time I tried to keep _you_ alive… Seems like I’m obligated to save the boy this time.”

“That’s another good point.” she commented.

“Peeta’s argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you.” he told her. She closed her eyes for a second, something resembling shame flashing on her face. Good. She needed to _understand._ He wouldn’t make this easy for her. “You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” she snapped. “No question, he’s the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?”

It hurt that she could ask that so casually, even though a part of him understood. He would have done the same thing if he had been in her shoes.

“Like there’s a choice?” he scowled, tossing the bloody dishcloth in the sink.

“You just said…” she frowned.

“What I did for you with Thread. You think I wouldn’t have done it for him?” he spat.

She searched his face for a second and then shook her head no. “It’s different. It’s asking…”

“Too much.” he confirmed. “It’s asking _too fucking much_. But that’s how it is, yeah? Peeta stays out there and tries to save your ass.”

“And you?” she asked, apparently suddenly concerned with his well-being.

“We’ll see.” he lied.

It seemed to reassure her enough.

“You’re sure he won’t volunteer?” she insisted.

“We worked it out.” he shrugged. “I think he got it.”

She stared at the wound on her hand. “It’ll be bad for you in the arena, right? Knowing all the others.”

He didn’t answer that.

There was no good answer.

Those Games would be unbearable wherever he was.

His silence must have been answer enough though because she nodded once and then left.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. It was late, almost half the night gone already, but he felt the restless energy buzzing under his skin. He was thirsty for liquor and it was all he could do not to run to the Seam to beg Ripper for some moonshine she probably didn’t even have anymore.

He ended up sneaking out of his house anyway, feeling ridiculous to be wary of Peacekeeper patrols when they usually toured the Village much earlier. He wasn’t one to underestimate his opponents though, that was the first rule, the mistake that got you killed, and he wouldn’t have put it past Thread to lay in ambush somewhere.

The Village was calm, the only lights coming from Katniss’ house and Peeta’s cellar. He figured the boy was painting. He sneaked into the house Peeta had described and searched the bathroom until he found his books and his metal box. He left the incriminating volumes but grabbed the box and made his way back home.

The tattered ribbon had faded along the years and it wasn’t really pink anymore. It had been a piece of home when he had gone into that arena, the token tied around his wrist like a promise… Now… Now, it held little meaning to him. Like its color, his memory had faded.

He brushed his fingers against the pictures of a naked laughing Effie and then tossed them in the fireplace. He didn’t want anyone else to see it. And someone would need to go through his things after he…

He closed his eyes and went back to sit on the couch, sorting through the box. The engagement ring seemed smaller than in his memories, the diamond had lost its shine. The iris shaped ring still looked good, pretty even. He pocketed that for later consideration along with the picture of his family. Everything else… Everything else he tossed into the hearth.

He watched his most precious belongings being consumed by fire until he dozed off.

°O°O°O°

He woke up with a start to find Peeta and a sulking Katniss standing there.

“Effie’s sending me recordings of all the living victors.” the boy declared as if continuing a conversation that had been interrupted. As if Haymitch had any clue what he was talking about. He didn’t even have any opportunity to sit up. “We’re going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We’re going to put on weight and get strong. We’re going to start acting like Careers.”

Haymitch’s grey eyes darted to Katniss, who lifted both hands in helplessness. “Don’t look at me. He dragged me out of bed for this.”

“One of you is going to be a victor again whether you two like it or not.” Peeta snapped, glaring at both of them in turn. “You want me to stay behind and mentor? Then we do it _my way_. I’m not going to let you go out there unprepared. I won’t have your death on my conscience. Meet me out there in half an hour.”

The boy stormed out and the front door banged shut behind him, making both he and Katniss wince.

“I don’t like self-righteous people.” the girl declared.

“What’s to like?” he scowled.

Peeta wasn’t exactly kidding about training though.

Haymitch grumbled about it but he didn’t mind half as much as he claimed. It was something to do. It kept his mind occupied and his body exhausted enough that he could manage to grab a couple of hours of undisturbed sleep at night. He avoided going to bed as much as he could though, if only to escape the night terrors.

The boy was strict about their schedules, so much so that, one evening, Haymitch asked him if he was their escort’s secret love child. It earned him more laps around the Village the next day.

In the morning they exercised to strengthen their bodies. They ran around the Village for hours – he couldn’t go much more than ten minutes, at first, but with each new day his stamina improved and he soon left Peeta and his prosthetic leg behind, although he was nowhere near fast enough to catch up with Katniss – they lifted heavy things and they stretched out their muscles. After more than two decades of constant abuse, his body wasn’t exactly thrilled to be forced into shape but the fact that he was sober helped. He couldn’t imagine having done that drunk or in withdrawals – because, _no doubt,_ the boy would have insisted on cutting him dry. He retained his natural brute strength despite everything. It had always been one of his greatest assets.

In the afternoon they worked on combat skills. He more or less took over the hand to hand fighting lessons because _that_ was his thing. He never missed the looks the kids exchanged behind his back when he taught them a move, as if they weren’t sure to be impressed, surprised or afraid. They kept forgetting he had won one of those things once.

Katniss taught them practical stuff – like climbing trees. Haymitch scoffed at first because he had done _plenty_ of that in his youth but it turned out he _wasn’t_ young anymore and it wasn’t as easy as he remembered it. There were quite a few impressive falls that left him and Peeta with bruises all over.

He wasn’t sure who insisted on throwing knives but it was the most frustrating thing. On bad days, the days when he woke up dying for a glass of liquor and when the tremors were so bad his hands wouldn’t hold steady, he could barely grip the handle, never mind _toss_ it.

“You’d think a guy who sleeps with a knife every night would actually hit the side of a house.” Katniss mocked him one afternoon.

It stung so much he spent his free time tossing knives at targets until he learned how to compensate for the tremors. On good days, he hit the bull’s eye without blinking. On bad ones, he hit the edge of the target. Better than nothing.

Throwing knives had never been his thing anyway so he insisted on teaching them how to wield a blade and, above all, how to protect themselves from it. He wasn’t an expert. He relied a lot on his brute strength and had none of the subtle skills the Careers always showed but it had worked well enough for him in the past.

Aster designed a specific diet for them, Prim treated their sore muscles, Gale showed up on Sundays to teach them about snares… Haymitch shot Katniss a warning glance the first time, a glance she ignored, but, later on, she briefly squeezed his shoulder. He figured that meant she remembered the conversation about putting her people first.

Training for the Games wasn’t really allowed but there was only so much Thread could do to stop them, short of locking them in a cell. And even _then_. The Head Peacekeeper warned them to keep whatever they were doing to the Village not to agitate the District.

Haymitch flipped him off behind his back but, unfortunately, Peeta knocked his hand away before Thread or one of his minions could see.

What they were doing was _nothing_ compared to what was going on in other Districts, he was certain. He knew his friends. They would show up ready to fight.

According to the newspapers Undersee’s daughter regularly sneaked out of her father’s study, the kids were given favorites. That, alone, would encourage other victors to step up. 

The worst, by far, were the evenings. He tried to escape it a few times but the kids tracked him down and mercilessly dragged him to Peeta’s house where he was forced to watch whatever Games the boy had picked. The kids were thorough in their watching. They took notes, they analyzed the victor’s fighting style… Haymitch remembered to chime in from time to time, to add important pieces of information about their weaknesses when all he really wanted to do was share anecdotes that, somehow, seemed crucial now.

Fifty-third Hunger Games. Brutus Gunn looked like a gorilla and saw the Games like an actual sport but he was a very kind and gentle man outside of it. The Games were the Games and everything was fair to him when it was about that, but outside of it… He had never hidden his respect for Haymitch who had always been a bit uncomfortable with how impressed Brutus was with him for having survived against twice the usual number of Careers.

Sixty-fifth Hunger Games. Finnick Odair. An actual peacock with a wolfish smile. Haymitch had given him his first glass of whiskey and watched while the boy almost choked on it. The boy had been trailing after him and Chaff for as long as Haymitch could remember. He had always been fond of the cheeky kid. He had always…

Fifty-Second Hunger Games. Katniss judged Eight’s victor to be lucky. All Haymitch could think about was how Alina Grave always used to smell of almond, the taste of her kisses or how she always giggled when he poked her in the side. How awkwardly he had behaved with her, like only a teenager could be. She had been his first time. She was still a very good friend.

Each and every one of them.

He had stories for each and every one of them.

And he would need to make sure twenty-two of them didn’t kill his kid.


	14. Keepsake

Slumber evaded him.

Every time he closed his eyes, images of his Reaping haunted him. He knew the next day would be different, mostly because he already knew its outcome, but he couldn’t help it.

He laid in bed the whole night and stared at his ceiling, telling himself he could always get out of there, that nothing was set in stone yet. It would be easy. A word to the boy. Keeping his peace if Peeta’s name was called instead of his own. It would be _easy_.

And when he heard a noise downstairs, a little after dawn, the familiar creaking of his front door as it was pushed open, he thought that maybe the boy had had the same thought.

He propped himself on his left elbow while whoever it was climbed up the stairs, sheets pooling around his waist, his right hand ready to grab the knife on the nightstand if he needed to.

He knew he didn’t.

He knew who it was, had recognized her footsteps before he even realized who they belonged to. Brains were funny that way.

“Not clever.” he tossed, when Effie appeared in the doorframe. “Peacekeepers are trigger happy, these days.”

She strutted in. Red dress that clung to her body and golden wig that caught the pale sunlight streaming through the window, endless legs worth dying for… _Goddess_.

She looked smug and very pleased with herself, just like she always did when she had found a way to break the rules and get away with it.

He couldn’t help but smirk when she simply climbed on the bed and straddled his lap as if it was something they did on a regular basis. As if she was around more than once a year.

“There is a very impressive case downstairs worthy of the best prep team.” she declared. “I do not trust you to look the part of a victor, as you surely know by now, and it _is_ my responsibility to make sure you are ready for the cameras.” She grinned, slowly grinding back and forth against his groin as if taking up something they had stopped a few minutes earlier. “Why, if there _is_ enough make-up in there to repair the damages you will do when you thoroughly _fuck_ me… It is a lucky coincidence.” It didn’t take much more than her rubbing herself on him a couple of times for him to stand at attention. That made her grin harder. “ _Hello_ , Haymitch.”

“Crafty.” he commented.

“Merely practical.” she retorted. “I have been _aching_ for you and that stupid Head Peacekeeper would not let me come to you without a good reason.” 

He almost felt sorry for Thread. Standing in Effie Trinket’s way was never a good place to be. She could stare down an army if she so wished.

Since he was still propped on his elbows, she only had to lean in a little to brush her lips against his. He captured them brutally, chasing after them when she sat up straighter to reach for her wig. His mouth ran on her throat with a hunger he didn’t try to control, all the restrain he had shown so far flying through the window. Only lust was left. Lust and despair for her. He licked at her skin only to sink his teeth in the offered flesh.

“No marks.” she reminded him in a breathless whisper. She stretched her arm to carefully place the wig on the nightstand where it wouldn’t suffer his attacks. “It is _awfully_ clean in there. There is almost a womanly touch to your house, this year. Did you find yourself a girlfriend, Haymitch?”

There was a possessive growl to her voice.

It turned to a yelp when he rolled them over, trapping her under his body.

“Housekeeper.” he corrected, leaving a trail of kisses from her throat to her breasts. “What’s this about an ache… Could be serious. Maybe I need to take a closer look.”

She laughed, her hand groping his backside under the sheet. “I see you have not lost this _improper_ habit of yours to sleep naked.”

“You know me. Hate being hot at night.” he mumbled, pushing the neckline of her dress down with his chin to get better access. His fingers ran on her sides, searching for the zipper.

“I happen to remember you _love_ it when it is hot at night.” she purred, pulling his head up by his nape to suck on the spot under his ear. “Or is it just when _I_ am hot for you?”

He growled in answer to that attack, drawing back just enough to stare at her in the eyes. She innocently batted her fake spider-like eyelashes.

“Get out of this dress or I’m ripping it in two and you’ll have to go on that stage in your underwear.” he threatened.

The mention of what was to come made them both falter but she recovered first. As always.

“If only I had any…” she grinned.

He rolled his eyes, smirking like a maniac, more happy than he could have said to have her there. Despite everything.

They could have asked her to step down before the Quell instead of after.

He could have been forced to go through this by himself.

He kissed her. She seemed confused by how tender that kiss was given how dirty the previous ones had been but she rolled with it. Their mouths moved together, lips brushing, parting only to come back together, heads tilting to find different angles… Her hands ran through his tangled hair, messed it up even more, and then ran down his nape, his shoulders blades…

She broke the kiss with a gasp when she felt the swollen patches of skin under her fingertips.

“It’s okay.” he said quietly, seeking her mouth again.

She avoided his lips, watching him with horror. “You said it was not that bad. You said…”

“It wasn’t.” he muttered. “Come on. Don’t spoil the mood.”

“Let me see.” she demanded, already stretching her neck to…

“I’m fine.” he snapped. “It’s fine. Really not the worst. _By_ _far_.”

“What have they done to you…” she breathed out, her face contorting with pain.

Anyone else, he would have accused them of pitying him.

Effie…

Effie, it was different.

“I’ve had to cut off.” he shrugged, keeping his eyes averted. “They burned down the Hob. They’ve been… Well, let’s just say Twelve hasn’t been that fun lately.” He snorted at his own euphemism. “Not that it had _ever_ been fun. But… Yeah. No more booze.”

She touched his cheek, almost hesitant. It took him a second to gather the courage to look at her. She had seen him at his worst and lowest plenty of times. She wouldn’t judge. She also knew _why_ he needed the liquor.

She probably had a good idea of how unbearable the last few months had been for him.

She would understand better than the kids did.

“How long?” she asked.

“Not sure. Before the announcement.” he sighed.

“When you wouldn’t take my calls.” she pouted. Her fingers danced on the new scars, mapping them out. “I wish I had been here to help.”

“You’re here now.” he dismissed, forcing the smirk back on his lips. “And I know what you can help me with…”

He sneaked a hand beneath her dress, struggling with the sheets that had somehow tangled themselves around his waist. He had to kick them down to the foot of the bed to succeed and that made her giggle. He loved the sound. He could have gotten drunk on that sound.

Any blood left in his brain rushed south when he realized she hadn’t been lying and she didn’t have anything on under that dress.

He was reminded of whiskey when he kissed her where she was wet and aching for him. How rich and intoxicating it could be. How one glass was never enough. How it always led to another one. How he could never stop, never let go. How fucking amazing it was to over indulge even when he knew it was getting dangerous. How aware he was that it would destroy him in the end...

Alcohol had always been an addiction he had been upfront about.

He hadn’t been that honest about her.

Watching her writhe and wriggle under his mouth…

It was worth any brand of liquor in the world.

His name on her lips when she reached her peak…

He wasn’t sure how they got rid of that dress but it ended up tossed over the other nightstand, knocking off a lamp in the process. He buried himself home in one thrust with something akin to _relief_ and imposed them an almost frantic rhythm that soon had her crying out again.

He forgot about everything else.

He _always_ forgot when he was deep inside her.

He wasn’t sure how that worked or if it was something specific to her – because it had certainly never happened with any other woman, it had never felt like _that_ – but she became his whole world when he was pounding into her. She was the only thing in existence. She was…

After months of jerking off on his hand, he didn’t last long.

They remained entangled for the longest time, trying to catch their breath back. When he had recovered enough, he slid off her but didn’t move away, feeling the imperative need to touch her as much as he could, to make sure she wouldn’t disappear. There was an urgency to the kisses he pressed on her breasts, to the teasing lick he gave her nipple…

“As much as I would love to, I am not sure we have time for another round…” she hummed. “I _do_ need to make sure you look presentable and I am sure I need to freshen up.” She waved at her – admittedly messed-up – face. “Besides, that _horrid_ Peacekeeper looked like the sort who would enjoy catching us in bed together.”

“Would probably make his day. He’s a stickler for rules.” he snorted, running his palm over her flat stomach. Not to start anything, just to… He couldn’t quite explain it to himself. “Probably hasn’t seen a naked woman since he enrolled. And there’s uglier than you.”

“Why, _thank you_.” she huffed, playfully bumping his thigh with her leg. “How _nice_ of you to say.”

He muffled his chuckles against her breast and let his mouth trail down, sitting up to get better access. Down her ribcage. Down her stomach. Down her inner thigh to the inside of her knee…

She propped her ankle on his shoulder without a care in the world.

It was a nice view so he nuzzled her calf.

“Have you been working out?” she asked, stretching her arms over her head like a content cat. She left them on the pillow, over her glorious wild mane of blond curls… “You look… _Very_ appealing. So many new muscles…” Her red painted toes nudged his chest – that might or might not have been much firmer, thanks to all the training they had been doing. “So very handsome…”

He didn’t really need the flattery. He had never really been self-conscious because it had never really been difficult for him to catch a girl’s attention. But he accepted the compliments all the same if only because it made him feel… _good_ to know she wanted him.

She was a very shallow woman. He took her for granted most of the times but there were moments… Moments when he found it astonishing that she was still willing to sleep with him.

“You still have the pink thing?” he asked, his attention drifting to more important matters. “You know? The one with all the ribbons…”

As far as lingerie went, that one had been a masterpiece. She had surprised him with it one night a few years back and it had been… a great night. There were a hundred ribbons on that things and to get it off her, he had been forced to solve the puzzle – a challenge he had enjoyed even if his erection had made it more difficult than it should have been – pull on the wrong ribbon and the knots would tighten, making it twice as difficult to get his way with her.

It had been fun. Entirely frustrating for a while but fun. She had enjoyed goading him on by telling him everything she wanted him to do to her – and she could have a _dirty, dirty_ tongue when she wanted to.

“I am not sure. I would need to look for it.” she hesitated. “Or perhaps I could simply buy another one.”

That was tempting but…

“Nah, don’t bother.” he sighed, placing her leg back down on the bed, running his palm on her inner thigh distractedly. “Waste of precious time we can spend actually _fucking_.”

“Yes…” she sighed right back. “I suppose there won’t be much time for… _pleasurable activities_. We will have our hands full.”

“I plan on having my hands full of you.” he warned with a snort, settling on top of her again to make his point, dropping lazy kisses on her chest. “May die sober but I’m gonna die very well _fucked_.”

Her nails abruptly dug in his shoulder. “Do not say things like that. You do not know yet if…”

“Come on.” he scoffed.

And, just like that, the relaxed easy mood was ruined.

Her whole body tensed.

He tried to move but her legs suddenly wrapped around him, her feet pressing at the back of his thighs, trapping him on top of her. He briefly wondered what the kids would have to say about _her_ hand-to-hand combat skills.

He propped himself on his elbows and looked down at her. They would need to have that conversation sooner or later, he figured, might as well have it _now_ , before the whole circus began.

“No matter which name I pick, Peeta is not going back, is he?” she whispered. Her fingers clenched and his shoulder stung so he was pretty sure her nails had drawn blood. He didn’t need to give her a verbal answer. She closed her eyes, taking a sharp breath and then forced such a bright smile on her lips that it must have hurt. “It is alright.” she declared cheerfully. “ _Of course_ , it is. You would never do something so reckless without a plan. You _always_ have a plan.”

“The plan’s to save Katniss.” he told her.

“Of course, of course.” she dismissed because it was _obvious_. “But whatever you have planned, it will save both of you. And, since I know you, it will probably save others as well.”

“Effie…” he winced. “There’s no other plan.”

“Alright, do not tell me.” she huffed. “I will pretend I am very dumb and did not notice all your secret meetings with Cinna. I will pretend I do not have an inkling of what is in the work. I will pretend I believe in accidents that take place right after a Head Gamemaker has dragged me out of a building.” The smile was back once more, its maniac edge almost blinding. “You are right, actually. Do _not_ tell me a thing. I would _never_ intentionally betray you, I hope you know that, but there are sometimes circumstances that…”

“Effie, there’s no other plan.” he repeated. _Harsh_. “That’s gone.”

She searched his eyes, looking for the lie. Looking for the truth.

“No.” Her voice broke, her denial almost too painful for him to bear.

She quickly turned her head to the side, her breathing fast and labored, her eyes shut tight, her lips pressed hard together.

She was trying not to cry.

He had had two months to come to terms with the idea that he was going to die. It hadn’t been enough for him to completely accept it. However he had been expecting for something to happen ever since the end of the Tour and… It was almost a relief to know what form his demise would take.

And after the last six months… The whipping… The withdrawals… He was tired. He _really_ was tired. He couldn’t see a point in fighting anymore. Not when the odds weren’t fair. Not when they would always lose.

He gently bumped his nose against her cheek. “Come on, Princess… I’m just the drunkard you sleep with once a year. You’ll find…”

“Don’t.” she snapped. “I cannot… I cannot play that game right now. I cannot pretend…” The sob passed her lips unbidden and it killed him. It killed him because she was in pain and it was his fault. “Haymitch, I…”

“I know.” he admitted, kissing her wet cheek. “Come here.”

He rolled off her and pulled her in his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other rubbing up and down her back. She buried her face in his shoulder. She cried in silence. He would have expected a sobbing feast with a lot of theatrics, some screams even… He should have known better. 

She never made a fuss about the important things.

He dropped kisses on the top of her head from time to time but it did little to help.

“Are you certain…” she asked eventually, once she had pulled herself together a little. “Are you _certain_ there is no plan? No _hope_?”

“We get Katniss out of there.” he replied. “That’s the only plan or hope I have.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his neck.

“How am I supposed to do this without you?” she whispered.

“Peeta’s a fast learner.” he promised. “Just keep an eye on which sponsor he deals with. And if it comes to making _that kind_ of deal…”

He didn’t need to specify though. She would know. Keep the kids away from that mess as long as possible and if they _really_ needed money that badly… She would do it. He didn’t think he even needed to ask.

“That’s not what I mean.” she hissed. “I mean…”

Her sentence remained incomplete, her voice trailed off.

_Life_.

_She means life_ , his mind supplied.

“That was never meant to be.” he chided her, a little harder than necessary.

“Does it matter when it was _real_?” she countered. “I always thought it was just _me_. I always thought… You said I have made you happy. Last time. You said…”

“I was saying goodbye.” he cut her off.

“ _Yes,_ and I kept waiting for something to happen.” she scowled, throwing a possessive leg over his hips. “But _nothing_ did. After Cinna and Portia… I was terrified you… _They whipped you_. I thought it was over. They whipped you and I thought…”

She reached up to wrap her hand around the side of his neck, pressing her face hard against his shoulder once more. 

“You thought that it was my punishment for whatever it was we’d done.” he finished for her.

“I was _furious_. I was furious anyone would hurt you that way but I was also… I was _relieved_.” she confessed against his skin. “You were hurt, yes. But _hurt_ isn’t…”

“Hurt isn’t dead.” he said, tasting the irony.

“I thought there was a plan.” she whispered sadly, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “The Quell… It scared me but I thought there was a plan. I _never_ believed for one second… I… I do not know how to do this.” Her fingers drifted to the scar on his side, her voice breaking again. “I do not know how to accept… How do I lose you? How do I let you go? How do I…”

He pulled her up by the nape, more brutally than was probably necessary.

The kiss was violent but not as much as the way he pushed her on her back, not as much as the way he took her next. She gave as good as she got though. It was all teeth and nails, grips strong enough to bruise and flashing pleasure so raw it was more painful than rewarding.

“We weren’t meant to be.” he panted against her ear, his voice rough.

“You love me a little, don’t you?” she begged. “Tell me you do. Even if it is just a little…”

“Would be easier if it was just a little.” he mumbled.

He wasn’t able to look at her after that. He tore himself from her arms, from the bed, because he was scared he would never get the courage to do it if he didn’t sever contact _now_. He walked straight to his shower and let icy water pour on him until he was shivering.

It did nothing to numb the burning feelings inside his chest.

When he came back to the bedroom, the bed was made and there was a suit lying there, waiting to be put on. He got dressed slowly. He could hear her moving around downstairs. He wanted to give in to the pretense that this was a familiar thing: him getting dressed upstairs while she did whatever downstairs, making some coffee maybe… It was terrifying to find he wouldn’t have been scared by that domesticity, that a part of it _craved_ it even. He chased the daydream away.

He was wary when he entered the kitchen but he shouldn’t have been.

Effie was back to her usual self, cheerful and flamboyant, painted face and ridiculous wig. Her behavior was even more irritating than usual but he figured she was overcompensating so he let it go. She forced him to sit down so she could trim his hair and he bore it for five minutes. Then he started arguing she was cutting it too short because he liked it long, she snapped that she knew what she was doing – _thank you very much, Haymitch –_ and they were still fighting about it when Peeta showed up with a plate of cheese buns.

Haymitch laughed his ass off when she insisted on using some foundation to hide the dark bags under the boy’s eyes. Peeta protested all his might but when Effie had an idea in mind, there was no deterring her.

Time passed quickly. Too quickly.

Before they knew it, it was time.

He could hear the Peacekeepers marching up the streets to collect them.

“Haymitch.” Peeta said suddenly, unsure and with too much guilt.

“We stick to the plan, kid.” he retorted. “Go get your girl. Remind her she’s supposed to make people want to sponsor her, yeah?”

Peeta’s eyes briefly darted to Effie, who smiled at him as if she had no clue in the world what they were talking about, then he nodded sadly and left through the back door.

“You should go back to the Square.” Haymitch told her, as soon as the kid had disappeared. “No need for you be caught in our walk of shame.”

He had no doubt Thread would make it look very impressive for the rest of the District.

She hesitated but surrendered to his argument, stepping past him. He caught her wrist before she could go very far and slipped the iris shaped ring on a random finger before he could change his mind. He didn’t dare look at her in the eyes.

“Keepsake.” he told her. “It’s not… It’s  not your usual fancy stuff. Was meant for my mother before…” He waved his hand in the air to dismiss his own words. “You don’t have to wear it. You can add it to your music box. Or not. Whatever.”

She was surprised but he couldn’t tell if it was about the ring or the fact that he knew about her box. It had been thirteen years. He knew _some_ things about her. Like the fact she had an old music box that was full of useless mementoes because she was a sentimental fool.

He was probably doing this all wrong.

He wasn’t even sure _what_ he was doing, truth be told.

“It is lovely.” she offered in a strangled voice. She pressed her lips against his in a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” he grumbled. “Don’t make a fuss.”

Thread shouted orders in the streets and Haymitch instinctively took a step back, his gaze darting to the corridor behind the kitchen. His shaky hands clenched into fists.

Suddenly it was impossible to breathe. He was torn between the urge to run and the need to take out his knife and…

_He couldn’t do this._

_He couldn’t…_

And then she was there, her arms strong around his neck, her breath hot against the shell of his ear.

“You will do this for the children and I will be very proud of you.” she whispered. “You are doing the right thing. The _only_ thing. So brave and selfless…”

He grunted in protest at that but let out a long deep breath.

“What if I can’t?” he asked in a blank tone. “What if you call Peeta’s name and…”

“I will be there every step of the way.” she promised. “When we are out there, look at me. Only at me. I won’t let you fall. You are not alone. You are _never_ alone.”

Given the noise, the front door must have been knocked down.

He barely had time to push her away from him before Peacekeepers appeared, guns raised. He lifted his hands in a gesture of mock surrender and followed them outside where Peeta and Katniss were already waiting. They were holding hands, he was pleased to notice. _Good_. It was never too soon to start on selling _that_.

“I truly do not think this… _flare_ is necessary.” Effie stated coldly, staring Thread down as if he wasn’t a good three inches taller despite her heels. “You can expect me to fill an official complaint with Head Gamemaker Heavensbee. This is a TV show, you realize, all those guns are _quite_ spoiling the atmosphere.”

The Head Peacekeeper sneered at her, obviously not very impressed by her threat. He nodded at one of his men. “Escort Miss Trinket back to the Square.”

“I think not.” Effie retorted petulantly. “I believe I shall like to walk with my victors. It will make for a grand entrance. We are, after all, a team.”

“Effie.” Haymitch warned.

She ignored him to address the Peacekeeper Thread had talked to. “Be a dear and grab my case, will you? Thank you.” It wasn’t until they were walking, a few steps behind the children, the four of them framed between two squads of Peacekeepers, that she answered him, low enough not to be overheard. “You are not the only one who can take a stand.”

“Don’t be reckless.” he rebuked.

She barely blinked.

“I am just as gifted at this game as you are.” she reminded him. “I know up to which point I can push and I know when to fold. You do not need to worry about me.”

“Sure, ‘cause you make it so easy not to.” he mumbled.


	15. The Best Part Of The Deal

Haymitch had been right when he had thought Thread would like them to make a grand entrance. The whole District was gathered on the Square and parted for them without the Peacekeepers being forced to clean a lane.

It felt… _solemn_.

A few men took their hat off, like you did at a funeral. Some people made a point of meeting their eyes, others nodded… When they passed in front of Gale, Haymitch could see Peeta squeezing Katniss’ hand in a gesture of comfort.

He wished Effie could hold his hand too.

Familiar faces blurred together. Sae’s sad crooked smile. Ripper standing as tall as her broken back would allow her. Hazelle’s teary eyes.

Dust puffed in small clouds around their feet.

Haymitch was there and he wasn’t. He was walking toward the stage twenty-five years earlier, for another Quell. He was walking in the lane kids always automatically created for the tribute who had been unfortunate enough to be picked. _Too many tesseraes_ , he had thought at the time, _never had a fighting chance._ Not with the double number of tributes. Not with so many pieces of paper bearing his name in that glass ball.

He looked around for his brother’s face and found Prim’s gaze instead. The kid shot him a soft encouraging smile and he ruffled her hair as he walked past her, making her squeak in protest – like always. It helped. It grounded him.

They separated at the foot of the stage, once they were past the security ropes.

Katniss and Peeta’s hands remained entwined for as long as possible, their arms stretching to touch to the very last second. A nice little display that he hoped the cameras had caught.

Effie’s fingers discreetly brushed against his before she went up the stairs.

He followed Peeta to their waiting area on the left of the stage, catching Katniss’ eye when she was in her own designed space on the right. The girl nodded, looking older than her seventeen years. He nodded back, placing a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. To remind Peeta – or maybe himself – that they all had an arrangement.

“Are you one hundred percent certain?” the kid asked, as if on cue. “I beg you, Haymitch. If you are doubting just for one second…”

Effie was exchanging a few words with Undersee, all smiles and theatrics as usual. He stared at her, focusing on the red dress, retracing the curves of her calves with his eyes…

“That’s how we save your girl.” he said at last.

“But you…” Peeta argued.

“That’s how _I_ save _you_.” he cut him off. “Don’t you _fucking_ dare take that away from me or I _am_ gonna punch you.”

If he did anything good in his life, it would be saving those kids.

Peeta was the easy one, truth be told. Katniss… It would be trickier. She would be an obvious target to the others, the outsider to their group and the crowd’s favorite. It would take brain and muscles. Keeping her alive long enough for Effie and Peeta to find her sponsors, keeping her alive long enough that she could reach the finish line…

“I just want to save her.” the boy whispered, clearly in pain. “I want to save her _so badly_. I would go in with her. In a heartbeat. I’d die for her.”

“You’re gonna have to do better, kid. You’re gonna have to live for her.” Haymitch countered. “’Cause when all this is over and she’s back, she’s gonna need you.”

Going in an arena once was usually enough to rip someone’s soul to shreds.

He wasn’t impatient to find out what happened when you went _back_ for a second time.

He shook his head, sighing when he saw Undersee take his place in front of the microphone.

“Dying’s easy, Peeta. Surviving’s the real bitch.” he said. “Don’t feel guilty. I’m getting the best part of the deal.”

It wasn’t quite a lie but it wasn’t quite the truth either.

He had sat through a lot of Reapings, most of them as drunk as he could get away with, but this one felt particularly weird. The Square was deadly silent. Undersee talked in a flat mechanical voice about the rebellion and the origins of the Games and Haymitch tuned him out. He stared at Effie and tried to remain grounded.

When Undersee left his place to their escort, there was no clapping.

She looked nervous and not quite as at ease as usual but that could easily have been explained by the particular atmosphere. It was downright rebellious and he could glimpse the Peacekeepers adjusting their grip on their guns at every corner of the Square.

“Welcome, welcome to the Third Quarter Quell!” she declared. She aimed for cheerful but her smile was too fixed and the tone wasn’t quite right. “Ladies first!”

Her hands were visibly shaking, she struggled to grab the lonely piece of paper and she paused before announcing Katniss’ name, barely glancing down, her eyes on the girl.

She was doing her best, Haymitch figured, but it wasn’t good enough. If she didn’t keep it together… He wasn’t sure how off the hook she was. She _knew_ better than this. It was one thing to fall apart in the privacy of his house, where there were no bugs and no cameras, it was entirely another to betray herself in front of the whole country.

“Katniss Everdeen.” she said, at last. If she _even_ tried to put some cheer in there, it fell flat.

She waited until the girl came to stand next to her before moving on to the other glass ball and its two pitiful folded papers.

She stood there and looked at them, flashing Haymitch a smile that was entirely fake and that pained him more than it comforted him. She fished one of the papers and briefly closed her eyes once she had read the name. It gave her away. He knew her too well.

“Remember the plan.” he reminded the boy. “Stay put.”

“Haymitch Abernathy.” Effie called, her voice cracking in the middle of his name.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t hear it in her voice anyway. It was the old escort’s voice he heard and it was toward the old hag that he walked as if in a daze, after pressing Peeta’s shoulder. Once he was next to her, he blinked and Effie was back. Their eyes met. Her fake eyelashes were batting like crazy to fight off the tears she couldn’t allow herself.

Her hand slipped into his and she gave the world her brightest smile. He supposed she had caught Katniss’ hand too.

“District Twelve, I give you your tributes for the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy!” she exclaimed. She forced both his arm and Katniss’ high over their heads in a victorious pose. The crafted iris dug in his palm.

Aster was the first one to bring three fingers to her lips before holding them out but, soon, a second figure copied her and a third and, before he could blink, the whole District, spread at their feet, was doing it. It was a mark of respect, of love… It was beautiful.

For a second, Haymitch felt himself moved beyond words. It was one of those moments that were bigger than just a person.

But, then, he saw Thread’s reaction and he realized just _how_ _it_ _looked_ …

“Don’t.” he hissed at the girl before she could give the salute back.

Katniss shot him a confused look but _mercifully_ listened.

They couldn’t afford to look rebellious. Not if they wanted a chance at getting her out.

The cameras shut down and Effie relaxed. So did Haymitch. It was done. Peeta was safe. As safe as any new victor was anyway. And he was…

Effie turned to him, probably about to remind him they needed to proceed into the Justice Building, when he was brutally torn from her side. Katniss screamed and he automatically fought the hands that tried to restrain him, managing to hit someone in the stomach with his elbow and only getting knocked behind the head for his trouble.

Stunned, he was dragged away and tossed in a car, barely hearing Katniss’ protests or Effie’s cries of outrage.

“They can’t do this!” Katniss raged, once the car’s door locked behind her. She pounded on the tainted glass with her fists. “We’re allowed to say goodbyes! We’re allowed…” When the car drove away, the fight left her. She slumped against the seat. “We’re allowed to say goodbye…”

He would have offered some comforting words if he had been able to put a sentence together. He felt the back of his head, not quite surprised to feel a bump developing…

The world was still spinning around him when the car doors opened and hands grabbed him again. They pushed them in the train so brutally Haymitch hit the wall and would have collapsed without Katniss’ hands steadying him.

“You’re okay?” the girl finally worried, manhandling him so she could get a look at the back of his head.

“We’re off to a great start.” he mumbled with a wince.

“ _Insufferable!”_ Effie’s voice screamed in her best _I’m pissed and someone is going to pay for it_ voice. “Do not dare put a single finger on me or _I swear_ I will have your tongue removed! I will report this. Heads _will roll_ for this!”

He was vaguely aware Peeta seemed to be playing the role of buffer between her and the Head Peacekeeper. As soon as the two of them had climbed on board the door locked shut and the engine hummed to life.

“ _Outrageous_! Hitting victors on the back of the head with guns!” she screeched, making him wince deeper. “Imagine _that_! I swear!”

“That’s what it was?” he muttered, batting away Katniss’ hands.

Effie’s attention relocated from the now shut door to him and anger faded to concern. “You should sit down, darling. It looked like a bad blow.”

“Don’t call me _darling_ in front of the kids.” he huffed when she gripped his arm and steered him toward the sitting room car.

“There’s no blood.” Katniss offered helpfully.

Effie’s free hand was already probing at the wound like she knew what she was doing. She had patched him up after enough binge drinking accidents to know some stuff about first aid, he figured.

He felt a bit better once he was sitting down on the couch but his head was still spinning. Someone – _Peeta_ , he thought – pressed a bag of ice on the bump. He hissed but the relief was immediate. He looked up at the three concerned faces peering at him and rolled his eyes. “I’ll admit it’s not glorious. Good thing there won’t be any gun in the arena.”

At least, he hoped so. There had never been any before.

The reminder worked as he had intended it to. Katniss’ worry disappeared for a sulk.

“We were allowed to say goodbye.” the girl protested, mainly directing that at Effie. “It’s in the rules. It’s…”

“I know, dear.” their escort cut her off almost distractedly, her eyes still glued on him. “I am sorry, I had no clue. If I had known...”

“It’s alright, Effie.” Peeta temporized. “We know it’s not your fault.”

“I _will_ report this incident.” she promised, pursing her lips tight. “This is _not_ to be suffered.” She sat down next to Haymitch and reached for the bag of ice. His fingers were numb so he let her take it. She inspected the bump carefully before pressing the ice back. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy.” he lied. 

“I’ll be in my room.” Katniss spat before storming out.

He expected Peeta to follow but the boy hovered awkwardly, worrying his fingers a little.

“Spit it out.” Haymitch grumbled.

“Thank you.” the kid offered. “Nobody… I never thought anyone would ever do something like that for me and… _Thank you_.”

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to answer to that so he simply gave a brief nod.

“Peeta, dear.” Effie cut in with her usual cheerfulness. “If you go to my room you will find potential sponsors files on the dressing table. They are color coded. Perhaps you could start reading them, learn their face and their name. It will make mentoring easier.”

“Sure.” Peeta immediately agreed. “I’ll… See you at dinner.”

Haymitch waited until he was gone before dropping his head on her lap, nudging her further down the couch so he could put his feet up. She switched the hand holding the bag of ice and placed her cold fingers on his shoulder. He covered them briefly and then brought them to his lips.

“That’s done.” he commented flatly.

“I suppose it is.” she replied, bubbly and fake. He wasn’t sure if she was acting because the train was bugged or to keep the pretense up for both of their sake’s.

“Don’t suppose you’d let me have a drink, yeah?” he mocked, his eyes resting on the liquor cart in the corner. His mouth was watering at the simple sight of the bottle.

“I will have them removed.” she declared. “And I will make sure the penthouse is alcohol free.”

“Thought so.” he snorted.

He remained silent for a while, trying to come to terms with the enormity of it all.

It wasn’t just the thought that he was going to die in the next three weeks. _That_ , he might have made his peace with. It was the knowledge that he was going to have to go back to the arena in every sense of the term. That he was probably going to be forced to kill people. _His friends._

Effie’s fingers were running through his hair slowly, the only thing grounding him to a reality he would have gladly fled.

“Any guess as to who’s gonna be in there with us?” he asked.

“Brutus is volunteering.” she said.

“You’re guessing or you know for sure?” he frowned.

“Valeria told me.” she confessed. “We won’t know for certain until the recap airs but… She sounded certain. You know how he is… It is all about the competition for him and a _Quell_ … He wouldn’t be able to pass on the opportunity.”

“Suppose not.” he sighed. “How come you’re so close to that woman all of a sudden?”

Effie had never had many good friends amongst the other escorts. They were all best friends in front of the cameras, of course, but behind them…

Her fingers ran in his hair a few times before she answered and he knew she was trying to waste time, to figure out how best to word something he wouldn’t like.

“I was not the only one who was asked to step down after the Quell is over.” she declared. “We believe… Any escort who is close to her victors has been fired for various inconsequential reasons. It brought us closer.” She snorted. “You won’t be surprised to learn Viola Summercket is being promoted from Eleven to Two next year.”

“She’s taking Valeria’s spot.” He made a face. “Explains why Two’s your best friend now.”

“Well, that and the fact she is intimate with a lot of prestigious sponsors.” Effie countered. “I have been making contacts while conducting my personal vendetta, if you must know.”

“That’s my girl.” he chuckled. He squeezed her knee and sat up straight. The bump at the back of his head throbbed but he didn’t feel like the world was spinning around anymore. “We’re gonna have to talk strategy.”

“It can wait until after the Reapings recap.” she countered. “Once we know who we are dealing with, we can plan accordingly.” He knew she was right so he gave her a small nod. She made a small face, worrying one of her big diamond ring around her finger. The iris shaped ring looked out of place amongst the gemstones, too common and plain to rival with her expensive jewelry. He was betting it would be gone from sight as soon as she would have found a safe place to keep it. “There is something else…” she hesitated.

“Isn’t there always?” he scowled.

“Our stylist.” It was all she needed to say, really.

“Great.” he deadpanned. “How bad?”

“Bad.” she confirmed without trying to make light of it – which told him all he needed to know really. “I made it very clear _I_ had the final say and that I would supervise parade costumes and the interview outfits but we should expect troubles. She is… _very_ full of herself.”

“You checked the parade outfits though, yeah?” he asked, suddenly panicked at the memory of what they had been forced to deal with over the years. “No gunnysack. Tell me, there’s no gunnysack.”

He hadn’t given a single thought to the parade, had forgotten how humiliating that part was.

“I _specifically_ told her to work with the flame design.” she countered. “However, I have yet to see any prototype so…”

“You don’t know what’s in store.” He rubbed his face. “I ain’t letting them put me in a gunnysack. Rather wear the minor outfit again.”

His own parade outfit hadn’t been the worst he had seen all those years.

“It won’t come to that.” she promised in that soothing tone of hers. “I made it clear she should expect drastic consequences if I was displeased with the end result.”

It wasn’t _that_ reassuring.

Eventually, Peeta returned with the sponsors files and too many questions. Haymitch did his best to answer them despite his headache while Effie found a train attendant and had the liquor removed and strict instructions given about how he should not be indulged with whatever alcohol he asked for. He was grateful not to have to request her to do it. He was grateful she knew him well enough to know he was tempted to gulp down a couple of bottles and say _hell_ to it all.

When Katniss trailed after Effie in the dining-room car that evening, she looked a bit better than she had earlier. She was still sulking about not being able to say goodbye – and Haymitch understood, really, he was lucky in the sense that anyone he would have wanted to say goodbye to was standing in that room – but she had apparently decided to make an effort for their sake.

Dinner was a silent, gloomy affair. Nobody made much of an effort to chat. Effie tried a few times but always ended up falling silent again.

“I like your new hair.” Peeta ventured at some point, tired of the defeated atmosphere maybe.

It was all Effie needed to have the ball rolling. He listened to her talk about matching tokens as if she was clueless about how it would be viewed and faked complete disinterest when his opinion was sought.

“Maybe we should get you a wig, too.” Katniss tossed in a pitiful attempt at humor.

Haymitch scowled at her and Effie quickly cleared her throat, giving up on forcing herself to eat her custard. She suggested they moved on to watching the recap of the reapings and they all wholeheartedly agreed, relieved to leave the dinner table behind. It didn’t help that they had spent a whole month sharing meals with Cinna and Portia at this very table. Their ghosts lingered.

“How many of us in all?” he asked Effie when Peeta ran to his room to grab his notebook. He hadn’t been able to pinpoint an exact number. There were those who never came to the Capitol anymore either because of age or because their mental state wasn’t suitable to public exposure…

“Fifty-nine.” she answered with some nervousness.

He didn’t ask how many were older than forty or how many were addicted to something but he bet she knew those numbers too. He bet she was praying for most of their opponents to be elderly and weak from withdrawals.

They sat next to each other on the couch, leaving the armchairs to the kids. It allowed him to press his side against Effie’s, to draw comfort from her presence without being too obvious about it. He schooled his features into a blank mask before it even began, certain that the children would look at him to gauge his reaction with every new name called.

One was easily the District with the most tributes. The escort called Cashmere and although a few female victors looked at each other, nobody challenged that. Cashmere smiled and looked the part but she didn’t seem very happy with her fate. It was a different affair for the men. When Evira and her long green painted nails picked up Velmar’s name, Gloss stepped forward before anyone could even react.

Peeta drew stars next to their names in his notebook.

“To protect her or to win the title?” Effie asked under her breath.

“Protect her.” he answered, low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the kids who were commenting on the shallowness of Careers.

The Ritchson siblings had had their share of glory. They hadn’t liked being sold like cattle any more than any other victor had – never mind the fact that they were often sold as an item.

Gloss and Cashmere exchanged a look before the escort officially announced them and the spark in their eyes when they lifted their arms high over their heads, hands tightly locked together, promised mayhem. They would do their best to see that one of them got home, he already knew.

District Two was a quick affair. Valeria called Lyme and Enobaria volunteered, flashing her fangs to the cameras, then she called an old man and Brutus stepped forward, high-fiving his former tribute with a happy smile before pressing a loud kiss to their escort’s cheek. Because he knew the crowd would go mad for that in the Capitol. His wife didn’t seem as pleased about it.

“Poor Val.” Effie sighed softly.

District Three didn’t have as many tributes as One or Two. There were only two women standing there. Wiress looked downright apprehensive and was clearly fighting to keep a straight face, her posture was rigid, her eyes riveted to Beetee’s on the other side of the stage. Layela was younger, in her late twenties. An old flame of Finnick’s. He could still remember talking the kid into chatting her up… Layela didn’t step forward when Gloria’s dyed green hand picked up Wiress’ name. Nobody spoke out either when Beetee’s name was called.

Four… Four was a sham. There were as many victors there as there were in One and Two. Della, the escort, hesitated after checking the name on the piece of paper. Her eyes darted to the pool of female victors and then to where the men were waiting. Her voice broke when she called out a timid “Annie Cresta.” and Effie clucked her tongue at her behavior as if her own had been exemplary. But Della had been her _protégé_ since she had become an escort a couple of years earlier so he supposed this explained that.

He wished he could say he was surprised when Annie lost it or when Mags tapped the floor twice with her walking stick to get everyone’s attention. If she spoke the words “ _I volunteer”_ they were lost to the cameras. But the way she hit her chest was enough for Della to understand and quickly announce her as the female tribute. That Finnick’s name was called of all the men gathered there confirmed Haymitch’s suspicions that some of the Reapings had been oriented. _Both_ Annie and Finnick? It was very unlikely.

Effie let out a small pained sigh and he pressed his shoulder harder against hers, to remind her their only concern should be the kids next to them not the ones they had no hope of saving.

Five and Six went down as could be expected given the small numbers of victors.

Seven… He had hoped Johanna would escape it but she was forced to walk to the stage scowling and sneering. Nobody volunteered for Blight either.

He held his breath when it was Eight’s turn, not quite sure who he was hoping for. There were only Alina and Cecelia standing there and both of them had children. He liked Cecelia but he liked Alina more and so he breathed a sigh of relief when it wasn’t her name that echoed on Eight’s square.

“Oh, not Cecelia…” Effie lamented. They were friends, he remembered too late.

Nine was quick since there was only one male and one female victors. They were both in their sixties and Haymitch would have been surprised if they survived the inevitable bloodbath. Ten was pretty much the same.

Eleven… Seeder flinched when she heard her name but she recovered quickly enough to step forward with a forced smile and undeniable poise. Viola waited for a bit, her eyes on the other woman standing in the waiting area, clearly wishing her to volunteer – either because it would have spiced things up and given her some opportunity to shine or because she actually _liked_ Seeder, that was anyone’s guess. When it was clear it wouldn’t happen, she moved on the other glass bowl.

“Come on.” he muttered under his breath when Viola’s fingers struggled to catch one of the two pieces of paper. “Come _on…_ ”

_Not Chaff._ It _couldn’t_ be Chaff. If his best friend remained out there, he would know for certain someone would be there to look after his kids. If his best friend was out there…

“Chaff Mitchell.” Viola said almost gleefully. She didn’t bother waiting for Dam to volunteer and take his former tribute’s place.

He briefly closed his eyes.

“Well, Chaff never could stay out of a fight.” Effie commented out loud. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to comfort him or not.

Twelve’s reaping had been heavily edited. Gone was their solemn entrance. Effie called Katniss’ name, then Haymitch’s and the feed cut back to the announcers who congratulated themselves about how it would be the best games _ever_.

Haymitch stood up and left without a word for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... It's Chaff for Eleven! Haha! You may have recognized some of my OCs here and there if you read my other stories... Anyway, eventful Reaping! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts!


	16. That Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. Let's have a little... _mise au point_ :
> 
> 1) If you don't like Haymitch, this story isn't for you so please just don't read instead of leaving hate about him in the comments. WHY are you even reading this if you don't like him? Why? I've written a thousand hayffie stories by this point (not exagerated if you know my track record on ff), you should know I won't take kindly to Haymitch hate? 
> 
> 2) If you think the plot is stupid, sorry but I'm not going to change the story for you. I hear you, I respect your right to disagree, but then again just don't read this story! Move along, find one that suits you and stop pestering me in comments about how it is so illogical and how it doesn't make sense. I have explained my point, I stand by it, if you have a problem with it, just find another story to read. 
> 
> I respect and I am willing to hear constructive criticism (as well as typos and grammatical mistakes being pointed out, I'm not a native speaker, I don't take offense at all if you want to point that sort of things out) but this isn't constructive criticism, this is just some people who don't like Haymitch and act all pissy because he's the hero of this story which has been CLEARLY labelled Haymitch centric from the start. I don't know what you came looking here for? READ THE TAGS. 
> 
> 3) this is a fair warning that I am done being nice to people who fall into those two categories. Haymitch's hate and people telling me how illogical the plot is (due to the aforementioned hating) won't be tolerated anymore. We're at chapter 16, you SHOULD know if this is a story you want to keep reading or not by now. You want to? Awesome! Welcome on board. You hate it? Go away. Simple as that. Life's too short and there are too many books and fanfics out there for you to read something you don't enjoy. 
> 
> 4) Sorry to those of you who have been nothing but supportive for this not quite nice author note. I refuse to moderate comments, it's not who I am, I've never done it, I believe everyone is free to leave reviews that criticise if they want to but I won't submit to hate or trolling. I won't. So here. I answered nicely to the first couples of comments but it has become clear to me this is just hating on Haymitch's character with clear intent to annoy me. 
> 
> Long story short: Haymitch is the hero of this story, the story does resolve around Haymitch, this is also a hayffie story and your arguments according to which Haymitch is useless and selfish have no place around these parts of the fandom so please move along where you won't be aggravating me ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He rested his forearm on the window and stared at the wilderness flashing by. He couldn’t make out much outside, given the train’s speed and the darkness, but there were a lot of pine trees and he thought they were somewhere near Seven.

He wondered if on another train, a few miles ahead, Chaff was staring at the changing landscape and feeling the same way he was. How was he supposed to go against his friends? Finnick and Johanna were bad enough but _Chaff_ … Chaff was _family_. He had been ever since he had woken up in that hospital room with his guts barely sewed together, a bad taste in his mouth and the certainty that winning might not have been worth it after all. Chaff had been there then. The first friendly face he had seen. Chaff had taught him a lot. He had been a father figure for most of his life, an older brother.

It was bad enough that he would need to protect Katniss from Finnick, Johanna and the others. It was bad enough. But _Chaff_ …

The door to his compartment opened and closed softly.

He didn’t even glance over his shoulder to check who it was. He closed his eyes, leaning his brow against his arm.

“I can’t do this.” he said, his voice rough. “Was stupid, sweetheart. Don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t do this.”

He felt her hands on his shoulders, smoothing the thick fabric of his jacket.

“What do you need?” she asked.

He knew what she was offering. She was offering him an outlet. A way to take his anger and his frustration against the Capitol by using her like he sometimes had in the past, to literally _fuck_ the Capitol without any regard for her well-being… She could take it and she would let him know if he ever went too far. It wouldn’t have been the first time he would have used her as a symbol instead as of a human being. She was willing and it always helped.

He felt disgusted with the mere idea.

He wasn’t even… He wasn’t _furious_ or _frustrated_. He was… _terrified_. Of what was going to happen. Of what he would need to do. Of what it might mean. Of how little time he had left to breathe. Of how much of a waste his whole life now seemed.

“Not _that_.” he spat. “Not tonight. I want…”

What did he want? To turn back the clock? To never have been reaped in the first place? To never have followed Cinna and the others in those treacherous rebellious roads? To give Alma Coin a piece of his mind for having sold them like that?

 _How could she_?

How could she leave a whole country to hang in exchange for… For _what_? What had been worth giving up on the rest of them _again_?     

Thirteen couldn’t be trusted. He should have listened to his guts. That District had spent the last seventy-five years watching them suffer Hunger Games after Hunger Games, living as slaves… They presented themselves as their liberation but Haymitch should have known better. They had survived by lying low, by giving up on _them,_ and he should have known they would do it again.

He had let himself be dazzled by promises of freedom, of making sure Katniss and Peeta would stay alive and protected.  He had let himself be fooled like he would never have been before the kids came along.

“What?” she whispered, slowly slipping the jacket off his shoulders. He let her. He let her embrace him from behind and he let her blindly unbutton the white shirt. “Anything. _Everything_.” she promised. “You can have everything you want from me.”

He leaned back against her a little and didn’t protest when she pressed a kiss on the nasty bump at the back of his head and another one on his nape. She slipped the shirt off his back, let it pool to the floor, and sucked in a breath when she finally got her first good look at his mangled back. He still hadn’t gone out of his way to check it out so he only had a vague idea of how bad it looked.

It was alright, he told himself, it was only Effie. Scars had a way of exposing a person. He didn’t like people gawking at the one on his stomach. Peeta had a bad habit of _staring_. Every time the boy had caught him without a shirt or had helped him change clothes, he had stared at the scar, as if he wanted to _ask_. Scars were private.

It had taken him a while to accept her touch on that particular scar, other women he had been with had avoided the area like the plague – Capitols were always wary of imperfections – but she had seemed fascinated with it from the start. She had always treated it with tenderness, even in the midst of the wildest rougher sex, as if that particular spot had suffered enough for the rest of his life. She had slowly tamed the part of him that hated exposing that scar, the reminder of his Games, because it would have reminded him of who – _what_ – he was and it wasn’t something he liked to revisit when he was _fucking_ someone. 

She didn’t ask for permission before kissing the fresh scars either. Her lips started on his shoulder, and wandered down. He felt her kicking her heels off, going back to their natural height difference, then her mouth was back on his back, mapping the scarred tissue out. Her fingertips brushed against the marks too and he was forced to swallow back the lump in his throat.

He was being stupid. His nerves were frayed from the exhausting day, his emotions all over the place…

It wasn’t like she could take the pain away simply with her touch.

And yet she seemed determined to try.

Her hands left his back to brush down his sides to his hips and she turned him around. He was never that passive but if she was thrown by it, it didn’t show. Her lips caressed his neck, traveled down his chest and when she sunk to her knees, he felt the familiar stirring.

Her tongue retraced the scar on his side, a distraction to the hands that were unbuckling his belt. She nipped along the line of pale dark blond hair that was disappearing down his pants and he found himself grabbing at her wig through sheer instinct. It was sticky with hairspray and he made a face. She didn’t notice, busy unknotting his shoelaces so she could get the pants off him.

He removed the pins from her wig with an efficiency born out of habit, less dexterous at it than he used to be. His fingers were shaking and after the fifth pin he dropped, she took over, taking off the last restrains and tousling her blond hair once it was free.  She nudged him back toward the bed and he silently sat down like she wanted, let her slid the pants off his legs and toss them aside.

He wasn’t really expecting her to stand up but he didn’t protest when she disappeared in the bathroom.

Maybe he was in shock, he mused.

He felt numb.

Completely numb.

The list of names kept running in the back of his mind. The list of friends who would have to die so the girl could live.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at the golden wig abandoned on top of the padded chair that had been in his compartment for as long as he could remember. Effie came back, her face was as bare as possible, she never quite managed to get everything off when she only had water at her disposal.

She slipped the red dress off and kneeled back down between his legs.

He had gone limp in the minutes it had taken her to take her make-up off and he wasn’t sure he would manage to get hard again. They had done it twice that morning and he felt… empty. Of energy. Of… _anything_.

She nipped at the inside of his thigh, probably aware his mind wasn’t in the game.

She knew which buttons to push, that was the thing and it wasn’t long before his body reacted to her. He flopped down on his back and stared at the ceiling as she blew him off, wondering what was wrong with him that he couldn’t enjoy it properly.

She did everything he liked.

And still he remained half-hard, nowhere near ready to finish.

_He couldn’t do it._

He would fail.

Katniss, his friends… He would fail someone. He would be _forced_ to. He would fail Peeta. And Effie. He would…

“Stop thinking.” she commanded before taking him whole in her mouth, dangerously grazing her teeth against his base. It was an electroshock of a kind and he hissed, making her smile around his dick.

She could be _very_ dedicated when she really wanted something and it seemed she had decided he would be coming no matter what.

He propped himself on his elbows and watched her, focused on her bobbing head… She looked straight at him, never averted her eyes and _fuck her_ for being so hot. He got into it. How couldn’t he when she was so… _perfect_. She put just the right pressure, knew just how hard to squeeze or where to lick…

“Effie…” he warned, out of breath.

She only hummed in answer so he took that as a permission to come in her mouth. For the practice they had at that, it was never flawless and she chocked a little. She muffled her cough against his thigh and, once she had her breath back, she crawled on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her without a second thought, still recovering from that climax.

Eventually, he ran one of his hand down to her ass, over her thigh, and…

“It’s alright.” she mumbled against his shoulder. “Don’t.”

She was wet though and it didn’t quite seem fair. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” she whispered. “I am not really in the mood.”

“Says the woman who just sucked me off.” he snorted.

“I wanted to help.” she argued.

“With sex.” he deadpanned.

“ _Amazing_ sex.” she corrected. “And you are a man, after all. Did it work?”

“A little.” he admitted. He wasn’t panicking as much anymore, mainly because he was stuck in the afterglow and thus was becoming sleepy.

“I am sorry about Chaff.” she offered. “I know what he means to you.”

He sighed and tightened his grip on her, crawling back on the bed without dislodging her until his head found a pillow. “It’s not just him, sweetheart.”

“I know.” she breathed out. And he figured she did. She knew all the victors. She was close to some of them, like Finnick or Cecelia. They both were. He didn’t even want to try and imagine how it would be for her to have to sit in front of that screen and watch as they all got killed off one by one. He tried to picture himself sitting next to her, watching Katniss and Peeta go through that instead, and he found he couldn’t. Not without a lot of booze anyway. “Haymitch…”

Her tone was hesitant and reluctant all at once. He braced himself for the worst. “Yeah?”

“Katniss is an obvious target.” she pointed out.

“Pretty much, yeah.” he confirmed. “We’re not getting into any alliance. I don’t trust anyone not to stab us in the back. We’re gonna do it the two of us. Our best bet will be to avoid people as much as possible, let the competition clear itself out. Then… Depends on who’s left and what kind of weapons we get our hands on…”

“Will you fight?” she asked. “For yourself. Will you fight?”

It took him a while to make sense of that. “You want Katniss dead?”

“No.” she immediately protested. “Of course _not_. Katniss is the priority, I understand. But if…”

“We ain’t talking about that.” he snapped.

“Haymitch…” she sighed, lifting her head to look at him. “We _need_ to.”

“No, we _don’t_ cause that ain’t gonna happen.” he sneered. “I’m dying first.” She closed her eyes as if the words were physically painful and placed her head back on his chest. He licked his lips and let out a long deep breath. He hadn’t meant to hurt her but… “This is happening, sweetheart. I’m not coming back.” She remained silent. He wrapped his hand around her nape and gave a gentle squeeze. “Effie.”

“I know.” she snapped. She sat up and left the bed without a glance for him. She snatched her dress from the floor and struggled to slip it over her head. He stole it from her before she could actually put it on and she turned to glare at him. “What is it now?”

Her fake anger wasn’t good at hiding the pain underneath.

“Stay.” he requested simply.

She searched his eyes for a moment and then clenched her jaw, swallowing hard. She tugged on the red fabric trapped in his fist. “I will come back. I need a smoke.”

He rolled his eyes at her but eventually shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind one.”

“You don’t smoke.” she protested.

“I don’t do sober either.” he retorted. “Need something to take the edge off.”

“I thought I had done just that.” she huffed but then she softened. “I will be back.”

“I’ll go with you.” he snorted. “I’m better at walks of shame in the morning.”

She lifted an eyebrow, lips pursed. “I am perfectly adept at sneaking around.”

“Sure, that’s why the boy figured out we’re _fucking_.” he countered. He found a pair of sweatpants and a dressing gown in the wardrobe, like always. He had never been sure if that was his escort’s doing or the Capitol knowing his tastes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

“He _what_?” she gasped with wide eyes. “Does Katniss know?”

“That one’s blind as a bat.” he mocked. “We’re safe on that front.”

He followed her out in the corridor after checking it was empty. She hurried to her room before she could be seen, high heels and wig in her hands.

He liked her room better. It smelt like her perfume and it was always full of her clothes, make-up and beauty stuff. She always unpacked even if it was for a single night. It felt less impersonal than his own room.

He dropped the dressing gown, kicked off the sweatpants and collapsed on her bed, ignoring her disapproving looks and her clucking tongue as she picked the clothes he had just discarded and properly set them on the stool in front of her dressing table.

He wrapped his arms around the pillow and settled on his stomach, his eyes tracking her as she moved around the room and in and out of the bathroom. Getting ready for bed always took her forever, she had rituals and it was always fascinating to watch – in a _this is crazy_ sort of way.

She didn’t bother with pajamas that night. Once she was done brushing her hair and applying whatever cream or lotion on her face, she climbed on the bed, set the astray between them and plucked two cigarettes from the half empty packet abandoned on the nightstand.

“Not just stress-smoking anymore, yeah?” he teased, taking the one she offered from her fingers and settling on his side.

“I happen to be very stressed.” she retorted. “It is still stress-smoking if I am stressed every day.”

He chuckled but shook his head. “Those can kill you, you know.”

“Yes, well.” she scowled. “It was cigarettes or sleeping pills. You approve of neither but at least cigarettes are less debilitating.”

He didn’t argue the point. He would rather she smoked than get addicted to those pills.

There was a flash of pain on her face when her fingers closed around the silver lighter Finnick had gifted her with for her birthday a few years earlier. The diamond rings were gone, the only piece of jewelry left was the crafted iris. She had moved it to her left ring finger.

His gaze lingered and he was certain she was aware he had noticed but she didn’t say anything and he didn’t either.

Her thumb brushed against her initials on the side of the lighter and then she made the flame appear. They smoked in silence for a while. It brought none of the relief alcohol would have, his mind remained too clear for comfort and the tremors were still there, intermittent but irritating.

Effie, on the other hand, relaxed almost immediately like only an addict taking a fix could. She laid on her back and stared at the ceiling, one leg bent, her free hand on her stomach… She was making the iris ring turn around her finger with her thumb in a distracted fashion, as if she wasn’t quite aware of it.

He watched her more than he smoked, the cigarette slowly consuming itself between his lips unless he remembered to flick off the ash.

“I’m scared.”

He didn’t realize he had spoken until she turned her head to look at him. She looked more shaken by that admission than she had been by anything that day.

“Of dying?” she asked eventually.

Her mind had jumped on that because it was her own fear, he supposed. Him dying.

They had been stupid the two of them, _so_ stupid. They should have cut it out when it had become obvious they were becoming attached, when he had stopped going for other women and when she had stopped collecting boyfriends. They should have listened to Chaff’s veiled warnings. They should have been more clever than that.

He took a long drag of the cigarette to waste time. Her blue eyes were still staring though and he found he couldn’t meet them. He had never confessed being scared before. He was the strong one, always had been. He endured so other people didn’t have to.

“Of becoming _that_ again.” he finally muttered. “The guy who can kill without a blink ‘cause… I don’t want to die.” He let out a short broken laugh and met her eyes. “I don’t want to die, sweetheart.”

The ashtray was like an invisible wall between them. She didn’t reach for him, maybe she knew he wouldn’t quite have welcomed it at that moment. He felt too vulnerable to accept gestures of comfort.

“I would have done it if I had been allowed.” she whispered instead. “For Katniss. I _would_ have. And I certainly do not want to die either. How crazy is that?”

“Very.” he commented. “Guess we’re both crazy, then.”

“I guess so, yes.” She flashed him a small sad smile. He finished his cigarette in silence and crushed its bud in the ashtray. She was slower, holding it between two fingers, watching the ash come closer and closer to her skin… “You are not a monster.” He opened his mouth but she was quicker. “I know that is how you see that part of you, the victor part… But you are _not_. Monsters do not sacrifice themselves for their children. The real monsters are the ones who…”

“You’re gonna burn yourself.” he cut her off quickly, before she could say something anti-Capitol. She shot him an annoyed look but rolled her eyes and dropped her cigarette in the astray before moving everything to the nightstand. Then she snuggled close to him, pushing a leg between his and manhandling him until she could use his arm as a pillow, her forehead right against his collarbone. “Don’t be reckless.” he breathed out against her hair.

“I am tired of all this.” she answered in the same low voice.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re retiring.” he pointed out. “Move on.”

“To what?” she scoffed. “A life without you in it? I know you do not want to hear it but it hardly sounds worth it. What we share… Even a month a year is more real than anything any Capitol man has to offer.”

He hoped the bugs weren’t sensitive enough to pick up their murmurs. He sighed and ran his fingers through her hair, burying his fingers deep in her curls. “You’re gonna find someone else. Someone rich and dashing.” It pained him to imagine it, made his stomach churn with acrid jealousy, but he didn’t want her to hang on to a ghost. He had done that for too long with Mabel. There was no solace to be found in a memory, no comfort. “You’re gonna have babies.”

“I cannot.” she snapped. “You know that.”

He had forgotten. He often forgot about the personal problems she was struggling with. She never put them forward, as if his own demons were more important, as if it didn’t compare. And he often acted as if it were true.

Finding out she was barren had been a huge blow a few years back. They hadn’t been that close yet and he had found out by accident. It had been awkward and he had been conflicted about feeling sorry for her. They had hated each other back then. Or had been better at pretending to at least.

“You’re gonna find a way.” he countered. “Surrogates or adoption or whatever. You like kids.”

“And how should I raise them? Like I was?” she challenged in an angry whisper. “To be blind and deaf? To be brainwashed like the rest of us?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep them safe.” he shrugged.

She shook her head. “I do not want children. Not in this world. Not without you.”

“You’re not making this easy, Princess.” he grumbled.

“Should I?” she snarled. “Should I smile and pretend I do not care that you are about to die? Is that what you need from me? _Detachment_? I am sorry, Haymitch, I do not think I can give you _that_.”

“Just want you to be _fucking_ happy.” he growled. “Not _right_ _now_ ‘cause _right now_ ’s pretty shitty but… Eventually.”

He felt her sigh against his skin, felt the words she mouthed there without a sound. Three little words, so small and powerless in the face of it all. So huge against his bruised heart.

An answer in itself.

He held her tighter, resting his head against hers.

He brushed his thumb against her cheek when he felt the first tear against his chest but he didn’t try to tell her to stop.

Talk about star-crossed lovers…

She fell asleep at some point but slumber eluded him. He knew he should try to force it, to get at least a couple of hours of shut eye because the next day would be difficult. The prepping, the parade, facing everyone, returning to the Center as a tribute instead of as a mentor… He couldn’t do that on two sleepless nights.

He still wasn’t sure he could do it at all.

He needed something to sleep.

And there was alcohol stashed somewhere on this train. He would only take enough to sleep, he promised himself. A few mouthfuls. Enough to stop the shakes. It would be better in the long run. It would help. He would be more focused and that would help during training.

He knew those were all excuses but the more he lied there, staring at the wall, the easiest it was to convince himself.

Effie didn’t stir when he left the bed. She curled up in a ball with a low whine while he was putting on his sweatpants though. He tied the dressing gown and pulled the covers up on her so she wouldn’t be cold while he was gone. Her face wasn’t peaceful and her fingers kept twitching on the pillow. He brushed her blond hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He headed straight for the bar car. It was the most likely place to find booze.

He was only two cars away when he heard the noises. Clapping and cheering. The TV.

In retrospect, he could probably have crossed the living-room car without the kids noticing, focused as they were on what they were watching, but the images on the screen made him pause.

 _“I don’t see that it makes much difference. They’ll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same.”_ his young self claimed with enough cheek that the audience started laughing. The smirk he had given the Capitol had been arrogant and distant. They had loved it.

“He didn’t have to reach far for that, did he?” Katniss snorted.

He wanted to leave because those were images he really didn’t want to see again but he was rooted to the spot.

It was funny, he thought, how he could barely remember his mother’s face or the sound of her voice but the arena was so _clear_ in his mind. The video didn’t do it justice. Everything had been so much… _more_ in there. The smell alone… Fresh grass and dew, enticing flowers… Everything to lead them to a false sense of relaxation.

He had been quick at the time, quicker than he could be today. He had grabbed a backpack and weapons and had been heading toward the woods before some tributes even recovered enough to step off their platform. He watched his own struggle with the wilderness, the carnivorous squirrels and the poisonous butterflies… Then the Careers… Maysilee… The other tributes who had found themselves on their path… His desperate attempt at finding the limits of the arena… The birds… Holding Maysilee’s hand… Stabbing Nya in the eye… Getting gutted…

The moment the axe hit his younger self he felt the phantom pain in his own stomach. He automatically placed a hand on his side, the memory so clear he was almost surprised he didn’t bend in two.

There had been no grace and no glory to his flight from death through the woods. The rest, as they said, was history.

“That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon.” Peeta said, with some awe as the video continues, showing his crowning. Not that the kids were really interested in that. He didn’t know if he was proud of how impressed the boy sounded or vexed he hadn’t realized just how smart Haymitch was to begin with.

“Not just against the other tributes but the Capitol, too.” Katniss added. “You know they didn’t expect that to happen. It wasn’t meant to be a part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that’s why I don’t remember seeing it on television. It’s almost as bad as us and the berries!”

It wasn’t just the fact that he had turned the force field into a weapon though. It was the fact that he had gone looking in the first place, that he had sought the arena’s limits. To escape, to use the force field as a weapon… Either were equally as bad.

Katniss started laughing, a bit hysterical, as if there was some comfort in that fact. Peeta was shaking his head like she had grown mad.

“Almost but not quite.” Haymitch said.

The laughter died immediately. They both spun around, looking sheepish like two toddlers caught with their hands in the cookie jar. They expected him to be angry, that was plain to see. He forced a smirk instead. It was good they had watched that one. It was the only Quell video they had and they should be prepared for what would be in store.

“Go to bed, both of you.” he told them. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a big, big, big day.”

He did his best to imitate Effie’s accent and it earned him two amused smiles. They agreed without protest but Peeta lingered a little, his eyes darting to the door at the other end of the room that would lead to the bar car.

“It’s that guy we need.” the boy said in a quiet voice. “The one who can beat the Capitol.”

Peeta left without waiting for an answer and Haymitch swore under his breath and muttered a steady string of curses right up until he was back in Effie’s room.

“Where were you?” she asked while he shed his clothes.

He hadn’t realized she was awake and he startled a little.

“Heard the kids.” he lied. “They were watching my Games.”

“Oh.” she frowned.

She didn’t move to snuggle when he climbed under the blankets and he frowned too. “You’re okay?”

She forced a smile and waved a dismissive hand. “It is nothing. Since the fire… I have been having nightmares. I woke up and you were gone and…” Her tone was aiming for casual but it wasn’t convincing. “I hope you told the children to go to bed. Tomorrow will be a big, big, _big_ day!”

“Yeah.” he chuckled, reaching for her. She flinched when he touched her so he took his hand back, a little hesitant. “Can go back to my room if…”

“No.” she countered at once, crossing the distance to wrap her arms around him. “I apologize. The nightmare unsettled me, that is all. Stay. Please. _Stay_.”

She sounded so distressed…

“Yeah. Sure.” he promised quickly, holding her close. “I’m gonna stay.”

“For as long as you can.” she insisted. “You will _never_ give up or quit.”

He chose to play dumb. “On sleeping with you? Not a chance. Told you. I’m planning of having a sex feast before…”

“Haymitch.” she cut him off sharply, deadly serious.

 _It’s that guy we need. The guy who can beat the Capitol_.

That guy had never known when to quit.

That guy hadn’t felt the weariness settling down to the marrow of his bones.

But Peeta was right and that was who they needed.

“I’ll fight.” he promised. “With all I’ve got.”

It wasn’t much.

But maybe it would be enough to save Katniss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of this chapter? Let me know! (except if it's about sharing your hate for Haymitch, in which case I invite you to stay quiet ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ )


	17. Coal Dust

“You come anywhere near me with that thing I swear I’m gonna stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.” Haymitch growled, pointing a warning finger at the Capitol.

He had been stupid and now he was cornered, wearing nothing but thin paper briefs that hardly covered _anything_ , his back to the corner of the room and the two men and the woman forming his prep team fencing him in. They weren’t the same people who had taken care of Peeta the previous year and all along Victory Tour. He didn’t know them, they were painful to deal with and he had forgotten just how _awful_ prepping was.

Everything was white in the Remodeling Center, giving the place the vibes of a futuristic shady hospital. He wouldn’t have been surprised if a mad scientist had appeared with shiny saws and electric paddles to turn him into a Mutt.

“Haymitch.” one of the men – he had introduced himself as Coralus or something – said slowly, as if he was speaking to a small kid or a cute dog. It made him _cringe_. “We are only trying to help you be as handsome as you can be.”

And the small wince he made after that let Haymitch know just how impossible a task it was.

The three of them had _recoiled_ at the sight of the various scars covering his body, repeatedly asking why he hadn’t had them removed. It hadn’t endeared them to him to say the least.

He had suffered them covering his hair with lotions. He had dug his fingers in the white table they had him sitting on while they had trimmed his stubble into something a bit more _stylish_ – but _natural_ , he had insisted on that. He hadn’t protested the skin peeling treatment.

He had sat there and played deaf while they commented and criticized every part of his body.

But enough was enough.

“Thanks, no thanks.” he spat. He kept his eyes on the bowl full of wax the woman was carrying. He had bolted from the table at the first hint of a _full_ _body wax job._ “Nobody’s gonna know anyway.”

“Oh, but it will help _tremendously_ with the parade outfit.” Coralus argued, talking very slowly as if he was brain deficient. “You see, the dust will stick much more easily if you are waxed.”

“The dust.” he repeated. The vein on his temple was throbbing. “What dust?”

“Coal dust. For your outfit.” the woman said. “It will look _lovely_.”

He clenched his jaw. “Get me my escort.”

“Haymitch.” Coralus sighed like one would faced with a disobedient child.

“ _Get me my escort_!” he shouted, losing the small amount of patience he had left.

“ _What_ is happening?” a young woman asked, poking her head in the room. Her eyes widened when she took the situation in. “Oh, _dear_! No, no, no, it _won’t_ do! Is the prep team distressing you, Haymitch? My apologies. They are _not_ supposed to do that!” She glared at them but Coralus simply rolled his eyes without any respect at all, probably because she looked to be half his age. She pursed her lips but soon flashed Haymitch a small smile. “My name is Paula. I am Madam Felindra’s first assistant.”

“Madam Felindra.” he snapped. “Who’s that?”

“Twelve’s stylist.” Paula answered. “Now, what seems to be the problem? Perhaps I can help.”

“Sure.” he sneered. “I’m not waxing for anyone and I’m not liking the sound of _coal dust_. What happened to working with flame patterns?”

“Oh, Madam Felindra gave up on that.” the young woman winced. “She did not want to be seen only as Cinna’s replacement. She is an artist in her own right, you know.”

“So what’s the outfit exactly?” he gritted through his teeth.

“I told you. Coal dust.” Coralus sighed.

He burst out laughing.

They all stared at him like he was unhinged and should be treated with caution. It sobered his hilarity up.

“This _isn’t_ happening.” he snapped, raising his voice again. “Get my escort here, _right now_!”

Effie would fix this.

She would rise hell and high waters and she would fix this.

He was a tribute, not a mentor. _He_ didn’t have any power anymore.

“I am afraid that is _quite_ impossible.” Paula protested, clearly distressed. “She must be at the red carpet of the Opening Ceremony as we speak and…”

He knocked over a tray full of shiny silver beauty instruments that clattered to the ground and took an aggressive step toward them. They all scrambled back immediately, exchanging concerned glances.

“I don’t _fucking_ care if she’s on the other side of Panem.” he shouted. “You’ll get her or…”

“ _Thought_ that was your soft voice, buddy.” someone snorted from the room’s threshold and Haymitch’s shoulders sagged in relief when he spotted Chaff. “Care to tell me why you’re disturbing my beauty time? Can hear you screaming from the other end of the corridor.”

“Oh, this won’t do _at all_ …” Paula lamented. “Tributes are _not_ allowed contact and…”

Haymitch shot her a glare that silenced her as he crossed the room in three long strides to join his friend. They probably would have hugged if they hadn’t both been wearing only paper briefs that didn’t completely cover their privates. As it was, Chaff settled for clasping his shoulder with his good hand and his expression immediately darkened when he felt the scars’ swollen flesh. Eleven’s victor briefly met his eyes but didn’t ask any question. He knew what whipping scars looked like.

“What’s this all about, then?” Chaff asked him.

“They want to remove every hair on my body so they can dump a bag of coal over me.” he growled.

His best friend wrinkled his nose but shrugged. “My hat’s gonna be made of corn.”

“Don’t think there’s any pants involved.” he retorted.

Chaff lifted his stump and his hand in the air helplessly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, you win.”

He relaxed a little. His friend had a point. They would all look ridiculous. If parade outfits were bad on kids, he wasn’t impatient to see what it would look like on adults.

“I’m not waxing.” he grumbled.

“As long as you stop shouting…” Chaff countered casually. They never liked it when tributes made a fuss. “Could be worse. You’re gonna give those people something to fan themselves over.”

“Oh, there _are_ boxer briefs!” Paula squeaked in protest. “They are made of gunnysack for _authenticity_ and…”

Haymitch let out a groan and Chaff made a face, waving his hand in front of his throat to tell her to stop talking.

“Trinket knows about this?” Eleven’s victor asked.

“I do not think Madam Felindra had time to show her the designs.” the stylist’s assistant offered in an apologetic tone.

Chaff’s bark of a laugh echoed in the room. “What I would give to see her face…” He shook his head and clapped Haymitch’s shoulder. “Wanna make a bet on how bad she hurts that stylist?”

“The woman’s never gonna work again, that’s for sure.” he snorted, but it was a small comfort. “What’s _Katniss_ wearing?”

The thought came suddenly. The young woman’s wince made his blood boil. They would put his girl out there in nothing but her gunnysack underwear and coal dust, exposed to the Capitol’s hungry depraved gaze.

“Deep breaths, buddy.” Chaff advised, not that amused anymore. “It’s too late now. Your escort’s gonna have that woman’s head, that’s already something.”

Eleven’s stylist, a man who had been working with that District for years and who was on friendly terms with its victors, came to collect Chaff and his best friend had no choice but to leave him to his fate. They promised to catch each other after the parade but he knew there wouldn’t be any real opportunity to _talk_ that day.

He stood firm on his refusal to let them wax him – _not just his chest_ and the mere idea of anyone putting their hands _down there_ with wax was enough to make him grow crimson with anger – and they eventually gave up, grumbling under their breaths about how he was more difficult than whatever model was popular at the moment.

The gunnysack boxers were torture. They _itched_. And for something made out of a rigid fabric, they clung to him, leaving very little to the imagination. He didn’t know what was worse, those boxers that didn’t hide anything or the paper briefs that had, at least, covered the shape - even if one of his balls had sometimes poked out.

When they pushed him in the waiting room full of chariots, victors, Games staff and a few stylists, he was so embarrassed he almost cupped his crotch in his hands. He strutted ahead instead, faking a confidence and a detachment he _really_ didn’t feel. Eyes followed his progress and he forced himself not to shuffle his weight from one foot to the other or to scratch his balls despite the unbearable itching feeling. The coal dust wasn’t comfortable either. It covered every inch of his body, he could taste it on his lips – and it tasted of _home_ in a weird distorted way – making him feel extremely dirty.

Katniss wasn’t there yet but he spotted her arrival from afar. People turned in her wake too but she was glaring so hard and looked so murderous that everyone got out of her way. They had braided her hair in a crown waved with small pieces of gunnysack. Not that anyone would be looking at her hair when wreaths of rigid fabric were wrapped tight around her chest, barely keeping her decent.

So much for keeping up the innocent little girl act. She looked _anything_ but innocent.

When she won… Effie would have a tough time keeping the perverts away from her.

He glared at everyone whose eyes lingered on her when she joined him next to their chariot and it was enough for most of them to make a hasty retreat. Finnick looked particularly interested but, Haymitch figured, he wasn’t more fortunate than they were. The golden fish pelt around the boy’s waist wasn’t exactly hiding _everything_ either. 

“Gave her hell, yeah?” he asked the girl.

She narrowed her eyes. “She’s a real _bitch_.”

“Wait until Effie gets her hands on her.” he sneered.

“We’re the only ones naked.” she hissed, after having looked around. “That’s punishment too?”

“Could be.” he shrugged. Her eyes came to rest on what his boxers weren’t hiding and she visibly flushed under the coal dust. “Not a word.”

“Wasn’t going to say anything.” she muttered.

They were told to take their place. A staff member helped them get on the chariot and then guided the horses at the very end of the line.

He took a deep breath and tried not to let his memories blur with reality again. He had been standing with Maysilee last time, watching the back of their fellow tributes from Twelve, too nervous to talk or exchange any pleasantries.

He watched Chaff’s yellow jumpsuit this time, watched Seeder’s purple one. They were joking together like only old friends could, making as much light of the situation as possible. Haymitch wished he could do that too.

“We don’t wave.” he told Katniss. “We don’t smile.”

“But sponsors…” she frowned.

“You’re one half of the star-crossed lovers. This is unfair. You’re heartbroken.” he told her. “We’re playing that card.”

“That’s for me.” she hesitated. “What’s _your_ angle?”

They had discussed it briefly with Effie and Peeta that morning at breakfast, before the girl had showed up. “Sarcastic asshole.”

“At least it won’t be difficult for you to act that part.” she teased, nudging his arm. Coal dust rose in puffs around them, making them cough.

“How much do you wanna bet it’s gonna fly off with the first draft?” he snorted.

Somehow, it wasn’t _that_ funny when the wind picked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will the outfit survive the parade? Will the stylist survive Effie? Answers next week! Let me know your thoughts!


	18. Just Like Old Times

Haymitch was proven right.

The moment their chariot rumbled out into the sun and the light breeze hit them, they left a cloud of coal dust in their wake. People cheered loud for Katniss and called her name but she remained impassible, staring straight ahead. His own gaze wandered to the giant screens and he had to make an effort not to wince at the picture they were making. Patches of skin were visible here and there. He looked particularly ridiculous, like only a forty year-old man practically naked on a chariot and covered in black dust could be. A few people called his name. Clearly, his outfit – or lack of – was warranting him some points.

“I hate this. I feel exposed. It’s humiliating.” Katniss hissed through her teeth.

“That’s the aim, I guess.” he replied, tossing a lazy look around the area reserved for District teams. He couldn’t spot Effie or Peeta in the crowd. “Almost done, sweetheart.”

The chariots lined up in a semicircle in front of the balcony where Snow was presiding. The man didn’t give them much more than a passing glance. He declared the Games open and it was over. The chariots slowly rolled in the Training Center’s courtyard in a joyful chaos.

People started socializing as soon as their feet touched the ground and Katniss watched them with some obvious apprehension. Haymitch didn’t have time to tell her to relax.

Damn, but that boy was quick.

“What did you do to end up with that outfit?” Finnick asked, leaning against their chariot in what Haymitch figured was supposed to be a seductive pose. He was addressing Haymitch but his eyes were on Katniss. “I was at least allowed a loincloth and that’s _me_.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “Not that it’s a bad sight. I’m Finnick.” Four’s victor extended his hand in Katniss’ direction and when she simply glared at it, he took it away only to present her with something on his other hand. “Sugar cube?”

Haymitch didn’t even _want_ to try and _guess_ where he was storing them given the minimal outfit.

“Don’t start, boy.” he grumbled. “It’s been a rough day.”

“I bet.” Finnick snorted, looking back at him, slightly more serious. “I’m sorry, though. Being out there like that… It couldn’t have been fun.”

“Doesn’t seem to bother _you_ to be half naked.” Katniss snapped.

She was treated with a patented wolfish grin. “Ah, but, my dear, I _do_ love being half naked. Ask anyone. Actually…”

“She’s engaged. Paws off.” Haymitch cut him off before he could start flirting. Katniss shot him a puzzled look that he ignored. She was so clueless. “How’s _Annie_ doing?”

Finnick’s face fell and any trace of that cheeky arrogance disappeared. “The Reaping…” He shook his head. “We didn’t get goodbyes.”

“We didn’t either.” Katniss offered, warming up a little.

Haymitch wasn’t sure she had made the connection between _Annie_ and _Annie Cresta_ but the goodbye issue was still a sensitive one for her.

“Nobody did.” Chaff declared, stopping next to him, Seeder in tow. He bumped his shoulder into Haymitch’s, leaving a dark stain on his yellow jumpsuit and making dust puff in the air. “Introduce us, yeah?”

Introductions were made. Chaff made an ass of himself by kissing Katniss straight on the lips, making her sputter in outrage and Haymitch genuinely laugh for the first time that day. She seemed to take a liking  to Seeder though, they exchanged a few words while they hugged.

“Katniss!”

They all turned to watch Peeta stride toward them, followed by their escort. The boy looked like he had been sucking on lemons and Effie looked… _thunderous._

“Peeta!” Katniss replied and Haymitch wasn’t sure if it was for show or not but she ran straight into his arms. The kid had his white jacket off and ready when she reached him. He wrapped it around her with dark angry looks for everyone who had been staring at her.

“No jacket for me?” he smirked when Effie joined them, her lips pursed tight and a spark of fury in her blue eyes. He tried not to watch her too closely because an angry Effie had always been a turn on and there would be no hiding any feeling of that kind in his current outfit.

“I am so, _so_ sorry, Haymitch.” she breathed out. She reached for him but seemed to think better of it at the last moment because she dropped her hand. She had white gloves on and she probably didn’t want to dirty them.

“Hi, love.” Chaff grinned, leaning in to steal a kiss. She turned her head at the last second, avoiding the peck on the lips by offering her cheek.

“I am _really_ not in the mood for this.” she warned.

“I’m not either if anyone cares.” Haymitch grumbled.

“I probably shouldn’t tell Effie she looks lovely as ever, then.” Finnick teased.

“Do you _ever_ stop?” Katniss commented as the kids joined them. Haymitch found he was really jealous of the jacket she was now wearing. Peeta’s white suit was covered in coal dust though and Effie clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“Never. It’s part of my charm.” Four’s victor grinned.

“So, tell us, love, I’m dying to know.” Chaff cut in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Did you murder that stylist?”

“Do not be preposterous.” Effie protested.

“It was _amazing_.” Peeta declared.

Their escort shifted uneasily. “There was _nothing_ extraordinary about the way I handled the situation. I assure you.”

“Oh, you _did_ kill her.” Finnick laughed. “It’s _just_ like every time that woman puts her hands all over Haymitch…”

“The octopus lady?” Haymitch made a face. “That one’s _bad_.”

“That’s the one Trinket tripped?” Chaff asked, confused. “Or was that the crazy fan?”

“I did _not_ trip her!” Effie objected. “She fell.”

“By tripping over your foot.” Four’s victor remarked.

Haymitch noticed the children were exchanging looks, probably feeling left out. He cleared his throat. “So what did Effie do, boy?”

“She fired her.” Peeta explained with a big satisfied smile. “On the spot. The woman was crying when Effie was done with her.”

Effie was inspecting her bracelet, a little embarrassed. “I may have implied she would not find another job in the fashion field again. At least, not on the levels she had hoped to reach.”

That was welcomed with a collective bout of laughter.

Except from Katniss who simply looked worried. “ _Can_ you do that? You shouldn’t get in trouble…”

“Oh, I _can_ and I _have_.” she retorted.

“You’ll take care of the interviews?” Haymitch asked.

She waved that away. “Already done. I caught an old friend of mine in the crowd. Faun Harwyn, do you remember? He is the stylist who launched my modeling career. He is retired now but he agreed to work for us as a personal favor to me. You will _love_ his work and it will be a nice publicity stunt.”

She looked very pleased with herself and he couldn’t help but smirk with pride. He loved it when she pulled that sort of stunts. It was so… _hot_.

“Buddy, you’re not wearing much.” Chaff mocked. “Don’t get naughty thoughts into your head.”

He blinked and looked away, saved from answering by the arms that suddenly looped around Finnick’s throat. The boy grabbed his attacker but too late.

“Too slow, Odair. You’re getting sloppy.” Johanna Mason accused, briefly tightening her suffocating embrace in what counted as an affectionate hug for her. She stepped around him and looked at everyone in turn, her eyes lingering on Katniss and Peeta. “You’re going to stand here all day?”

“What are _you_ up to, Jo?” Chaff chuckled.

“I’m dazzled by the amount of naked men in this corner of the yard.” Seven’s victor sneered, turning to Haymitch with open amusement. “Not _that_ bad for an old man.”

“The old man can still kick your ass.” he snorted.

“I guess we’ll see about _that_ soon enough.” Jo snickered, pulling on the collar of her tree outfit. “I can’t wait to get out of this thing. Peeta, right? Do you mind?”

She turned her back on the boy and held her hair up, her intent obvious. Katniss was gaping.

“Peeta, do _not_ touch that zipper.” Effie huffed.

Johanna glanced at Peeta over her shoulder. The boy gave her an apologetic shrug and was rewarded with a wink that made Katniss almost choke in… well, Haymitch thought it was jealousy but _she_ probably had another explanation ready.

“Too bad.” Jo smirked. “Maybe Haymitch can help me out, then…”

“Careful, Jo, Trinket’s got her claws out.” Chaff laughed.

“ _Ridiculous_ , the lot of you.” Effie dismissed. “Now. If you will excuse us… I need to get my tributes inside.”

She ushered them all toward the elevators. Almost everyone had gone up by then and, at least, they didn’t have to wait in line. Effie still looked particularly displeased.

“What’s got your panties in a twist now?” he asked after he had pushed the call button, low enough that the kids wouldn’t hear. Although, he didn’t think they would have heard anything anyway, Peeta was too busy trying to make Katniss stop glaring at him.

“All everyone was talking about when I left the City Circle was the size of your penis.” she hissed. “They are speculating on exactly how big it is when you are… Let us be tactful and say _particularly happy_.” He wasn’t really surprised by that. The boxers didn’t hide anything and Capitols were shallow and obsessed with sex. She wasn’t done though. Her jaw was clenched. “I _swear_ the moment I saw you on the screens and I realized… _Oh_ , I wanted to _wrench her neck_. If Peeta had not been so _furious_ … _Why_ , one of us _had_ to remain calm!”

“Sure.” he snorted as they all stepped in the elevator. “You’re the calm one.”

“This is _mine_.” she growled, vaguely gesturing to his crotch. “Nobody else should get to see it. And let’s not even talk about _Katniss_. The boy was seething. And rightly so! I am… I am… _livid!_ ”

The whisper caught the kids’ attention but Haymitch waved them off and pulled her to the far end wall so they could have some semblance of privacy.

“Stop acting bitchy. You’re gonna make me hard.” he warned.

She blinked, taken aback, and then crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why are you so calm?”

“’Cause this thing is itchy as _hell_ and it’s either keeping calm or ripping it off.” he shrugged. He actually considered it. Peeta had seen it before and Katniss… Well, she could close her eyes.  As it was, he gave in to the urge to _scratch himself_.

Effie made a face. “You are in public.”

“I’ve got gunnysack on my dick, sweetheart. _I don’t care_.” he scowled.

He must have talked louder than he had intended because Katniss made a sympathetic face.

“It’s _awful_ , isn’t it?” she whined, wriggling a little in her jacket.

They both welcomed the chime that signaled they had reached the penthouse with unabashed relief. They _ran_ to their respective bathroom, without shame or remorse. Haymitch was out of the boxers before he had even closed his bedroom door and he didn’t pause before walking straight to the huge shower. He didn’t even bother tinkering with the settings – _always_ set on some ridiculous girly perfume – but just let water soothe the itch. His skin was raw in places he didn’t like to have rashes.

And the coal dust was a _pain_ to remove.

Water pooled at his feet, black and sticky.

He spent close to a whole hour trying to remove everything from his body and his hair and he was pretty sure there were still some dirty spots left when he finally gave up. The wardrobe was full of the kind of clothes he favored, thanks to Effie’s thoughtfulness no doubt. He didn’t bother dressing up. It would only be Effie and the kids that night so he settled on checkered sweatpants and a navy blue long-sleeved shirt.

Katniss was already in the living-room, her wet hair pinned to the top of her head in a messy bun. She was flicking through Peeta’s notes about victors, looking unhappy.

“They left.” she told him, glancing up. “Effie says we should relax and rest.”

He flopped down on the couch with a snort, automatically looking to the corner where the liquor cart resided. The familiar bottles of liquor were gone, there was a variety of fruit juices and other non alcoholic beverages instead. Her idea of a joke, he figured.

“They’ve got to move quickly.” he explained, leaning in to snatch the TV remote from the coffee table. “See people, be seen… Create an interest.” He switched channels until he found the program he was looking for. The Games would be everywhere but there were programs more influential than others. He found the talk show he was looking for. They were ranking victors according to how well they had done in the parade. Six had apparently been the worst. “Well, look at that, we’re not in the last ten.”

“That’s good?” she asked, frowning a little when she checked out what he was watching. “That’s not an official Games show, is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he answered. “You need to use everything. Remember that for next year.”

“We don’t know if I will be here next year.” she countered with a sulk. “For all we know, you might win. Stop trying to pass the mentoring tips on me.”

“Fine, I’ll save them for the boy.” he retorted. “At least, they’re not lost on him.”

She aggressively turned the notebook’s page and focused on Peeta’s handwriting while he listened to why Gloss’ appearance had been disappointing to the host. Cashmere wasn’t ranking much higher than her brother. One’s outfits had been deemed too classical and while they _had_ looked attractive, they had lacked some… _craziness_.

Jo and her tree outfit hadn’t been appreciated either.

“They looked like good friends of yours.” Katniss said, seemingly out of the blue. “The victors from earlier.” she clarified when he frowned. The host was gushing about how fierce Enobaria had looked – although Enobaria had always been a favorite of hers – and Haymitch didn’t see how Katniss would jump to the conclusion he and she were friends. “Chaff, Seeder, Odair and Mason.”

“They’re good people.” he shrugged. “What’s your point?”

She hesitated. “If you want an alliance…”

“I don’t.” he refuted. “Chaff, _maybe,_ but I wouldn’t risk it. He likes life too much. Seeder…” It pained him to say it but Seeder would be a dead weight. “Not an option. Jo’s gonna snap the second she steps off her platform. And Finnick…”

“Odair’s going to play this like a Career.” she finished. “He probably already has an agreement with One and Two.”

“Don’t sound so sure of yourself.” he scoffed. “You don’t know them. You forgot Mags.”

She made an obvious effort to remember who that was. “The old lady? He’s not going to care about her. She’s only going to slow him down.”

“She practically raised him.” He shook his head. “He’s gonna stick by her, mark my words.” He sighed. “The people who go in there with someone they love, _that_ ’s who we need to worry about. Finnick and Mags. Cashmere and Gloss. Beetee and Wiress.” He clucked his tongue in annoyance. “Brutus was Enobaria’s mentor, they’re _definitely_ gonna ally but they’re both too much into the Games to let that affect the final result. They’re gonna kill each other if they have to. Same with Blight and Jo. Blight was her mentor but he’s got a family, _kids_ , and Jo… Well, Jo’s Jo. Like I said. She’s gonna snap.” And it would be sad. Very, very sad. He liked Johanna, always had. The girl had guts. “Finnick, Cashmere, Gloss, Wiress and Beetee. They’re gonna be the ones with the most to lose. Makes them desperate and desperate people are dangerous.”

“And you and me.” Katniss added after several seconds of staring at her notebook. “We have each other. That makes us dangerous too.”

He smirked at her. “Sure does.”

_“And of course in third position we have Haymitch Abernathy!”_ the host claimed, making him groan. _“If you had asked me yesterday, I_ wouldn’t _have bet he would rank so high but, let’s face it, he_ stole _that parade and made it very hard for the other male tributes to compete. Such a daring and, may I say,_ appealing _outfit…”_

He covered his eyes while the host talked at length about his ‘charms’, the tip of his ears a nice shade of crimson. They had videos of him under every angle and they were not shy about exploiting them. It was the game, he knew that, but…

Katniss was laughing so hard, she was holding her ribs, tears rolling down her cheeks.

_“Watch out for the Second Quarter Quell’s victor!”_ the host concluded. _“He certainly held out_ a lot _on us. And I mean_ a lot _. Mainly in his pants.”_

He tossed a cushion at the girl’s head but it didn’t stop her hilarity.

_“And the only man who could come before Haymitch’s_ superb _outfit – or lack of – is none other than Finnick Odair!”_ the host went on. _“I am_ totally _in favor of this new trend of naked victors.”_

The comments about Finnick weren’t any less evocative than the ones about him.

Katniss was still laughing hard but it vanished when the host called out _her_ name.

To be fair, Katniss was the only one who could have passed for a regular tribute and she was the newest victor in the pool. It was only natural that she would get the audience’s favor.

The things they were saying about her and her body clearly didn’t please her though. It seemed she wasn’t finding it as funny when it was about her.

Effie and Peeta arrived right at the moment she threatened to toss something at the screen if he didn’t turn that crap off.

“Dinner is in half an hour.” was all Effie said before disappearing down the corridor.

He left the kids to their own business and chased after her, tracking her down to the roof. She was fast, she was already drawing on a cigarette.

“How was it?” he asked, leaning his elbows against the waist-high wall. The view from the penthouse’s rooftop was impressive. People down in the streets looked like tiny ants.

“Exhausting.” she answered honestly. The various chimes on the roof guaranteed them a safe place to talk but he didn’t think the place was bugged. There was far too much noise outside. The Capitol wasn’t a quiet place. “The betting boards are all in Katniss’ favor. Finnick is a close second. Peeta and I were discussing the benefits of an alliance but…”

“No.” he cut her off.

“ _As I was about to say_ before you _rudely_ interrupted me, I talked him out of it.” she finished with an annoyed pout for his lack of manners. “You still have some coal on your neck.” She wiped it off with her thumb. “I _am_ sorry about earlier. I should have been more vigilant. I should have…”

“They assigned her to us for a purpose, sweetheart.” he dismissed. “They wanted us humiliated.”

She turned away and flicked the ash in an abrupt move. “Well, the joke is on them then. As angry as I was… Those outfits did _wonders_ for your popularity. Katniss is a beautiful young woman. We cannot play the innocence card anymore, though. That would be pointless.”

“She’s never gonna get how to be a _femme fatale_. So that’s off the table too.” he snorted. “Unless you wanna spend the next week and a half trying to teach her.”

“God forbids.” she cringed. “No, I think we should stick to the star-crossed lovers angle but… They will have to be a _real_ couple. Not teenagers in love but a power couple. We need to make them _sexy_.”

She let her voice trail off and he sighed. “Yeah.”

He didn’t like it, mainly because of the can of worms it would open but she was right.

“Now, about _you_ …” she hummed. “You were always well-liked but you stressed the drunk aspect for too long. They were reminded today of exactly who you could be.”

“A naked old guy with a big dick?” he deadpanned, stealing the cigarette from her fingers just because the conversation was making him feel uncomfortable.

“Haymitch.” she rebuked.

He thought it was about the theft so he took a single drag and handed it back but she ignored it, staring straight at him with obvious irritation. He made a face. “What now?”

“It might be how you see yourself but I can _promise_ you nobody in that Circle today saw a naked old guy with a big… Do you _have_ to use such an _atrocious_ language? Never mind, it is part of the persona, you might keep it but try to stick to the less colored version.” She waved her hand in the air. “You are handsome.”

“Look…” he winced. “I’m happy you think so, Princess, but… We both know Capitols go for the pretty boy and I’m really _not_ the pretty boy.”

“No, that would be Finnick. And he will have to compete with Gloss for that target audience.” she retorted. “You, on the other hand, are _handsome_. In a _mature_ way. You won’t have much competition on _that_ field. Brutus maybe…”

“Effie…” he scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“They are _hot_ for you, don’t you understand?” she hissed, the crude wording not quite what he was expecting from her. “You did not look _bad_ , Haymitch. You did not look bad _at all_. You looked _every bit_ a victor as the others did, more even perhaps. I want you to play the bad boy card.”

He groaned. “I’ve dropped that one years ago.”

It had been the easiest way to act for a while after he had won. It had allowed him to get out of a lot of situations and sponsors had loved the bad boy attitude. But he had been in his twenties at the time, he had dropped that in his early thirties to become Twelve’s joke of a drunkard because it had gotten him less unwanted attention.

“Take it back.” she declared. “Be the Quell’s victor. _That_ is who they saw today, what they _want_ to see right now. _That_ is what will get Twelve sponsors.”

“Just like old times.” he mumbled, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“The interviews will make all the difference. This year even more than ever.” she mused. “You will have to be confident but not come off as arrogant. Not too much, at least. They like you acting smug and witty. You will _have_ to be witty. And charming. But charming has never been a problem for you. I will try to have a word with Caesar, to see if he can guide the conversation to your Games… Remind everyone of who you are. It should be…”

She yelped when he brutally kissed her – just to finally make her _shut up_ – but she soon responded to the kiss. She tasted like cigarette, or maybe it was him, he hated that. He pushed his tongue in her mouth anyway, chuckling against her lips when her knees weakened and he had to trap her against the wall to steady her. Too easy. Almost.

He wasn’t sure where the cigarette had landed and he didn’t care. If the whole place burned down he wouldn’t shed a tear.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling him back for another kiss.

He toyed with the idea of having his way with her right there but rejected it when he realized the kids might come looking soon. It wasn’t worth rushing it. She would be all his after they watched the parade recap later that night.

His resolutions almost flew off the proverbial window when she cupped him through his pants, squeezing just enough to make him throb with desire.

“They are all fantasizing about you right now.” she complained against his lips. “She had no right to expose you like that.”

“You’re being awfully possessive, sweetheart.” he remarked. He didn’t even pretend it wasn’t thrilling.

“You are _mine_.” she hissed. She staked her claim with an aggressive kiss, her hands sneaking under his shirt… “How would you feel if I had been paraded essentially naked throughout the City Circle?” The mere thought tore a growl out of his throat. She huffed. “Yes, I’d _rather_ think so.”

The knock on the roof’s door was hesitant and, he noticed, Peeta didn’t try to push it open when he told them dinner was served.

With a last kiss and a shared look that promised of later pleasure, they stepped away from each other. Effie’s smoothed her dress but he didn’t bother trying to fix his own clothes. It would have been more suspect if he hadn’t looked disheveled.

Dinner wasn’t as quiet as it had been the previous day.

Peeta told Katniss all about his first foray into the mentor’s role, making Haymitch snort a few times. Effie added a few comments here and there and, of course, the boy _had_ to recount with every possible detail the great firing of the stylist.

Effie covered her face with her hands and _swore_ it hadn’t been _like that._

It lifted Katniss’ spirits though and she complimented their escort until Effie begged _him_ to make the children stop.

“Always knew you were a bad ass, sweetheart.” he shrugged with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes at him with fake annoyance. Still, she wrapped both arms around his elbow when they all moved from the dining-room to the living-room to watch the parade recap.

“I want to make you come by using my tongue.” she breathed in his ear, so low he almost didn’t catch it. “ _Just_ my tongue.”

He was forced to sit through the recap with his legs crossed so the kids wouldn’t notice his boner.

He was distracted but not enough not to realize she had a point. They had all looked out of place on those chariots, except for Katniss, but he hadn’t been the worst looking one by far.

He almost didn’t recognize himself, in truth.

The man on that chariot, it wasn’t the old drunk who couldn’t be bothered to step out of his house in weeks.

It was a victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just like good old times! hahaha! Did you enjoy the rest of the parade? What about the victors club reunion? Do you think Haymitch and Katniss will make a good team? And will hayffie manage to make it one hour without making out? So many questions :p Let me know your thoughts!


	19. A Package Deal

He woke up to lips trailing down his spine.

“What time is it?” he mumbled. They hadn’t got much sleep the previous night, too busy with more pleasurable activities, and he was starting to feel the lack of proper rest.

“The alarm is about to go off.” she whispered. “Peeta is already in the dining-room. You should join him for breakfast.”

He opened his eyes and rolled on his back to watch her, noticing the pink dress, the golden wig and the heavy make-up. He frowned. “How long have you been up?”

“A while.” she admitted. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Should have woken me up.” he rebuked, a slow smirk stretching his lips. “I’d have thought of something to do.”

She chuckled and ducked her head, her cheeks reddening a little. “I will be lucky if I can sit properly today as it is. Last night was…”

“The best sex you ever had?” he bragged, wriggling his eyebrows.

“ _Intense_.” she corrected, placing a hand on his chest and petting the light hairs that he had fought so bravely to keep. “You _were_ very dedicated. I expect the same level of commitment tonight.”

“Might take you in the bathtub.” he hummed sleepily, covering her hand with his and bringing it to his mouth so he could kiss it. “It’s been a while since we did it in the tub. Might be nice, too. Relaxing.”

“You are obsessed.” she laughed.

“With you.” he retorted smoothly.

She breathed out a small content sigh but the moment was ruined by the alarm going off. He groaned and put a pillow over his face to muffle the sound, letting her take care of that. She turned the clock off and snatched the pillow away

“I have something for you.” she declared.

“What a coincidence…” he deadpanned. “I’ve got something for you too.”

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter.” she grinned without heat. She set a square shaped red velvet box on his chest. “You will hate it but… Well, it _is_ gold.”

It took him a few seconds to remember her dangerous idea of sporting matching tokens. She was obviously nervous, she was fiddling with one of the rings on her fingers… He frowned when he realized it was the iris one. He hadn’t expected her to keep wearing it. And certainly not on her left hand, on a finger heavy with implications.

He didn’t say anything about it though. Certain things were better left unacknowledged.

He took the jewelry case and opened it with some wariness.

“You got me… a manacle.” he commented slowly. He took the… _thing_ out of its box. It was _gold_ , alright. It was heavy and impractical. The carvings looked like flames.

She clucked her tongue. “It is a _bangle_. And before you start, _yes,_ it is designed for men. Men can wear jewelry and still be… manly.”

He shot her a dubious look but slipped it around his wrist. It would take some getting used to.

“Could have given me a lock of hair or something.” he muttered. “Something a bit more… _discreet_.”

“I can get you something else for the arena, if you wish.” she offered after clearing her throat. “If you are planning on taking your old token…”

“Burned it.” he cut her off. His mind flashed to the picture of his family. That had been the token he had had in mind. Tokens didn’t matter much in the end anyway though and it seemed important to her so… “This one’s fine.”

She beamed. “Truly?”

“Still think you’re playing with fire.” he warned.

“But you like it?” she insisted, leaning in to bump her nose against his.

It was a bit too cute for his liking so he kissed her hard instead.

She had some troubles convincing him to leave the bed and even more difficulties not ending up back between the sheets with him.

Eventually, she managed to send him back to his room so he could get dressed while she disappeared, claiming she had a lot of calls to make in the living-room and shouldn’t be disturbed. He concluded from all her chatter she was going to call her – very rich – sister and beg for a sponsoring pledge.  

Peeta was alone in the dining-room when he finally arrived, reading over years worth of notes written in Effie’s neat flowery script. _Sponsors files_ , he figured. He hoped she would hand them over to the kids when she would leave Twelve. Those had come in handy a lot of times. She had recorded every important fact on every influent wealthy person in the Capitol. What they liked. Who their enemies were. Who their friends were. The files were kept to date, color coded, and allowed the two of them to target the people most likely to give them money.

“Have you thought about a training strategy?” Peeta asked before he even had time to grab a cup of coffee.

“Don’t really need one.” he shrugged, snatching a blueberry muffin from the platter in the middle of the table. “We’re not taking allies.”

Katniss walked in right at that moment and made a face, clearly no more impatient to talk about that than he was. She poured herself some hot chocolate and filled a plate, tossing Haymitch a reproachful look when she realized how little he was planning on eating. “You need to follow Mom’s diet.”

“Don’t remember your mom’s diet involving chocolate.” he replied.

“She’s right.” Peeta argued, making Katniss smirk around her next sip of chocolate. “Have some fruits. And get some meat for lunch.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, dad.”

Katniss snorted, Peeta chuckled and he considered his mission accomplished. Effie showed up a little while after, looking neither pleased nor annoyed. She clapped her hands, declaring they all had a big day ahead and that Haymitch and Katniss couldn’t afford to be late for the first day of Training. She was adamant about escorting them down but he was equally stubborn about her staying behind. They didn’t need a minder. Nobody down there would be waiting for their escort to show them the way.

Effie fretted and fretted all the time it took him to finish the fruits salad Peeta insisted on placing in front of him, arguing it was _well_ past eight thirty and that they would be the last ones and that _it_ _wouldn’t_ _do_. He ate even more slowly only to annoy her further.

“That’s your token?” Katniss asked in the elevator, nodding at the bangle around his wrist.

He briefly fiddled with it, still not used to its weight. He would need to try and throw a knife or two with that thing to make sure it wouldn’t impact on his already limited abilities.

“Yeah.” he answered finally.

“Flashy.” she commented, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“That’s Effie Trinket for you.” he snorted, watching the floors pass by, already done with the whole day that stretched ahead. “Listen… At some point today, make a show.”

“What do you mean?” she frowned.

“You’re the new one. They don’t know you. They don’t know what you can do.” he explained even though it was obvious to him. “They’re gonna prey on you. You need to make a show of strength.”

“You want me to shoot?” she clarified.

“And aim true.” he added. “Make sure there’s an audience, too.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

They _were_ late when they stepped in the Training area. And yet only Brutus and Enobaria had made it on time, it seemed.

Katniss seemed uncertain about how to behave but Haymitch didn’t let himself hesitate. He walked toward them with purposeful casualness and shook the hand Brutus immediately outstretched in good spirits. Enobaria didn’t extend the same courtesy but she nodded, both to him and Katniss, before focusing on the station in front of her.

Her knives flew in the air and hit each and every target.

He exchanged some small talk with Brutus and eventually wandered to the station Katniss had claimed for herself. Knot-tying.

“You really think this will save your life?” he snorted.

It earned him two dark looks, one from her and one from the instructor.

Victors were slowly trickling in the room and he talked a little with each of them, more interested in scouting out the competition than in listening to things he had been drilling into his tributes’ heads for years. Most victors focused on fighting stations, he noticed.

By ten, only half the tributes had arrived and Haymitch was starting to think some of them would never bother showing up at all.

Katniss had finally left the knot-tying station for the fire lighting one. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Finnick looked a little too pleased with himself and Mags was very obviously giving a laborious lecture, her hands distractedly playing with a piece of rope than ended up knotted so tightly Haymitch was certain _he_ would have never been able to undo it. Beetee and Wiress were struggling to get their fire started and the girl eventually moved over and introduced herself.

He moved on to the spear station where Chaff and Brutus were having a friendly conversation about the merits of spears over swords.

“Hey, buddy.” Eleven’s victor greeted him. “Want to try?”

“Spears are really not my thing.” he chuckled. “Why not? Could be fun.”

He turned out he was very bad at tossing spears. Brutus tried to give him pointers but he always ended up missing the target by ten inches. Chaff was surprisingly good at it despite his missing hand and Haymitch filed that away as a potentially useful information.

“Maybe you should drop your pants.” Cashmere mocked, her hands on her hips. “It seems to do wonders for you.”

“ _That_ ’s one spear I know how to use, sweetheart.” he retorted good-naturedly, making them all laugh.

The Gamemakers had arrived and were lounging around on the upper floor, more interested in stuffing themselves than in really watching the training. He supposed they weren’t being the most riveting tributes. He met Heavensbee’s eyes and the Head Gamemaker abruptly looked away,  flustered and embarrassed.

He let Cashmere drag him to the knife throwing station where Gloss was training, not quite oblivious to the stunt the young woman was pulling. She was trying to figure out what kind of opponent he would turn out to be.

Gloss’ weapons of choice were swords, that was how he had won his Games, but he was _very good_ at playing with knives… Or, at least, he was when Johanna wasn’t making scenes a few feet away. Why _in Panem_ the girl felt the need to get naked and rub oil on her boobs… Every male gaze in the room was riveted on her.

It was no wonder Gloss missed half the targets.

And the only reason Haymitch did better than him.

It was nowhere close to Enobaria’s perfect score but it was good enough that Cashmere gave him a serious look.

“You and the kid are a package deal, right?” One’s victor asked.

He winked at her and left that unacknowledged. Let the Careers wonder.

Lunch was a joyful affair. He wasn’t sure who had the idea of pushing all the tables together – he thought it was Brutus – but it looked more like a friendly reunion than a meal shared between people who would murder each other in a few days. It felt like being back in the mentor’s lounge at the end of the season, once a victor was crowned, when rivalries and grudges faded away.

Haymitch had no hope of that conviviality extending to the arena and was taking the opportunity to study them all. It was tough to remember he shouldn’t consider them like friends – or colleagues at the very least – but like adversaries.

He ended up sitting between Katniss and Chaff, around the middle of the table, trapped between the raucous group of victors who laughed hard and talked even louder and the elderly one that had somehow gravitated together.

He ate his share of meat with a pointed look for Katniss and a comment about how she could report to her boyfriend that he was following instructions but, above all, he _observed_.

Age wasn’t really a factor, here, he figured.

Mags was by far the oldest of them all but Woof wasn’t far behind and, if Four’s victor eyes were sharp, Woof seemed completely lost, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there. Leo Jammer, Five’s male victor, around eighty years old, had an intermittent tremor in his right hand that would prevent him from using any sort of heavy weapon, the man could barely hold his fork. Haymitch was very careful about hiding his own shaking fingers although he was certain Chaff noticed – Venus, a black man strong as an ox who was in his early sixties and who had won for Nine years earlier, clearly noticed too.

Haymitch hoped the bloodbath would take care of him. The man was calm under pressure and knew how to use his brain. It made for the most dangerous adversaries.

Wiress was nervous, looking on the verge of a panic attack. He didn’t give her ten minutes after the launch to crack. He wondered how many of them would die because of their own inner demons. Beetee wasn’t to be dismissed though. Three’s victor was talkative and friendly as usual but Haymitch knew that he would stop at nothing to protect his… Girlfriend seemed too ridiculous a term and lover felt out of place… There was no question Beetee loved Wiress though.

Brutus was a colossus. He would be tough to take down in a hand to hand fight. But he also tended to rush into things with brute force rather than to _think_ and that was something Haymitch could deal with.

Enobaria… Enobaria was the nasty kind of crazy. He was ready to bet she was dying to use her fangs to rip someone’s throat and repeat her first performance in her Games. That was the sort of things sponsors would _love._ She would make a show and thus she would be prone to dramatic kills. Her ego might be a key into defeating her.

Cashmere and Gloss would be a hard team to beat. They knew each other, were trained to fight together and operated as if they were one mind in two bodies. If Gloss put his hands on a sword, it would be difficult to pry it away from his fingers. And if the siblings grabbed knives… Well… He and Katniss better practice ducking. Threaten one and the other would fold though.

Finnick… He didn’t really want to linger on Finnick’s strengths and weaknesses. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. The boy would never let Mags down. And Mags… Mags was old and weakened but Haymitch would never make the mistake of not considering her to be dangerous. She had more than fifty years of experience on Hunger Games on her side.

“Do you ever talk or do you just sulk?” Johanna called out to Katniss.

“I don’t know. Do you always take off your clothes everywhere or is it just because you’re scared that’s the only way you’re going to get any attention?” the girl retorted, triggering quite a few laughs around the table.

“You think I’ll get attention when I slit your throat?” Jo sneered.

“Easy, Mason.” Enobaria cut in before it could escalate. “Keep that for the arena.”

“ _Fuck off_ , Golding.” Seven’s victor spat.

Enobaria snarled a little, showing off her flashy fangs.

The good mood had vanished. He wasn’t sure who suggested they went back to training but it was unanimously accepted.

“Nice job.” he muttered to Katniss as they left the room. “I told you we weren’t looking for allies, not that we needed _enemies_.”

“I hate her.” she grumbled back.

“And now she made you a target.” he snapped. “Try to _think_ a little.”

Katniss stormed away with a scowl on her face and a hard glare.

“Ah, kids…” Chaff snorted, catching up with him. “So ungrateful.”

“She’s a brat.” he confirmed. 

“You didn’t taste the wine.” Eleven’s victor observed. “Too bad. It was a good one.”

“We’re on a diet.” he shrugged. “You don’t know the boy. He’s a tyrant. The _mentor_ ’s title got to his head.”

His best friend tossed him a look but humored him by switching topic. “How about we get out of here? We’ve got a whole week of pointless training ahead and I’d like a private word.”

He glanced at the exits. There were no more Peacekeepers than usual and he was pretty sure nobody would try to stop them if they walked out. Either the Capitol was very confident that they would behave or the lack of security was meant to make them feel meaningless. Some of the victors hadn’t even bothered showing up at all.

He opened his mouth to agree when a gasp stopped him. Everyone was gathering toward the archery station with murmurs of admiration or shock. He and Chaff wandered closer. He was smirking well before he caught sight of Katniss.

He had never seen her shoot, he realized, not _really_.

She was actually _having_ _fun_.

The archery instructor kept increasing the difficulty level but Katniss never missed anything. Arrows darted, too fast to be counted, her fingers flying between the bow and the quiver at her back. She was so focused he didn’t think she even realized she had such a large audience.

Once the quiver was empty, the instructor switched the simulation off and she turned to leave… Only to remain frozen in shock when she saw that everyone had been watching her. She recovered quickly enough though. She shot one look at Mason and walked past the others to another work station.

The victors weren’t the only ones staring.

The Gamemakers were too.

“She’s something.” Chaff commented with some regret.

The same regret that was now written all over Heavensbee’s face.

She could have been the Mockingjay, Haymitch knew that deep to his bones. She could have been Panem’s salvation.

Now she was just another victor toy for them to play with.

“Let’s go.” Haymitch snorted.

He didn’t want to remain there, under those people’s scrutiny any minute longer.

The fact that he and Chaff had no trouble leaving the training area or even accessing the penthouse’s roof cemented his idea that Snow was sending them all a message. They weren’t enough of a threat for the Capitol to bother with extra security measures. They were tributes just like any other year. Small, weak, insignificant, and already dead.

Haymitch welcomed the fresh air but he winced when Chaff fished a flask from his back pocket. Eleven’s victor didn’t offer him any though, maybe because his friend knew he would have a hard time saying no.

“So… What _the_ _fuck_ happened?” Chaff asked, deadly serious for once.

Haymitch leaned against the low wall, watching the city. “What do you know?”

“After the Tour and that stunt your boy pulled, they increased the numbers of Peacekeepers. Raids, flogging, execution….” Eleven’s victor scoffed. “All my rebel contacts got killed like the Peacekeepers knew who they were looking for. I’m sure they had the names. It was… _bad_ , yeah. People rioted. I tried to talk them out of it. Too early. We didn’t have the numbers or the power.” He shook his head. “Peacekeepers got it under wrap, more people died… It calmed down after a couple of months. Still couldn’t get in touch with anyone. I’ve been watching Capitol channels, trying to figure out… _something._ Then the story about Cinna hit the news… I figured we’d been sold. The Quell thing kinda made that obvious. And since Heavensbee’s still around…”

“Thirteen.” he scowled. “That’s who sold us out. Well… Plutarch might have ratted his contacts out, yeah, but… Thirteen’s the real traitor.”

Chaff took a mouthful of his flask and then abruptly tossed it in a move of anger, kicking the wall for good measure. Haymitch snatched the flask from the air when it rebounded on the force field down below and handed it back.

“Piece of _shit_.” his best friend muttered.

“Don’t know what Coin sold her soul for.” Haymitch shrugged. “Lands probably. Some kind of agreement for her people. I’m betting Thirteen got their own independent District in the wilderness, far away from us. Finnick might have heard chatter. Not sure it matters much now. We’re screwed.”

Chaff chuckled bitterly and rubbed his face with his good hand. “Call me a fool but I was still hoping there was a plan in place.” Eleven’s victor took a deep breath, meeting Haymitch’s eyes. “So, that’s it, then. We’re gonna die.”

“Truth be told, I’ve spent the last six months waiting for it to happen.” he snorted. “When Cinna told me…” He waved his hand, dismissing his own point. “Doesn’t matter.”

“How bad was it in Twelve?” Chaff asked.

“Bad.” he confirmed. “But not as bad as in Eleven, sounds like.”

“The scars on your back…” his friend frowned. “What did they get you for?” Haymitch sighed and explained the whole thing, how he had claimed guardianship over Katniss to spare her, avoiding Chaff’s eyes when he was done. The other victor’s face was closed off. “You’re gonna die for that girl.”

It wasn’t a question, merely an observation.

“Worse things to die for.” he mumbled, keeping his gaze firmly averted.

“I guess.” Chaff snorted. “Wish I could say the same thing.”

“You might win yet.” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can outlive most of you, yeah.” Eleven’s victor offered, more seriously than he had expected. “Dying like that…” His friend scowled. “Thought that was behind me.”

“Didn’t we all…” he sighed.

“You’re doing okay with… You know.” His friend made a face.

“Dying?” he deadpanned. There were so many things he wasn’t okay with…

“Not what I was gonna say but, _sure_ …” the other victor chuckled. “Let’s go with _that_.”

“Wish I could do it with some nice moonshine.” he admitted. Not that he could afford that. Not if he wanted to protect Katniss like she ought to be. Peeta was right.

Chaff nodded thoughtfully, kicking a pebble. He was mulling something over but Haymitch didn’t try to force it out of him. He felt a bit strange standing there with his best friend. They had never had many secrets for each other. Chaff had been in the rebellion for years, longer than Haymitch who had been considered a liability until not long ago, but that was business, not personal. Even Effie… Haymitch had always made a point of denying it but Chaff knew and Haymitch knew he knew so it wasn’t _really_ a secret, more like a _guarantee_.

Now though…

Now every word needed to be weighted because… They weren’t on the same side anymore, wouldn’t be very soon at least.

“Had some flashbacks.” his friend confessed eventually. “Nightmares are back. You?”

“Yeah.” he confirmed.

What was the point of lying? He was pretty sure they weren’t the only ones. Two’s victors were eager for a fight and for glory but the others… Cashmere and Gloss weren’t as bothered probably. Careers didn’t have the same mindset. It was what had come _after_ the arena that had disturbed them. Depending on previous experience, some might do better than others in there but… he was certain they would all freak out at one point or another.

His best friend nodded, relaxing a little as if he had felt the need to hear he wasn’t alone in that.

They remained silent for a while, locked in their own head. 

Half the content of the flask had spilled when Chaff had tossed it but there was still enough left that the victor could take another long gulp. “I’ve got a sister, you know. Nephews.”

He didn’t need the reminder. Chaff had always talked his ear off about Fay although Haymitch had, obviously, never met her. He felt like he knew the woman and her kids.

He heard what Chaff _wasn’t_ saying in that almost apologetic tone, though. He had a family and that family needed him alive. The pension, the house in the Village… It would all disappear if  Chaff died in the Quell.

He owed it to them to try and win that thing.

“See? Always told you. Having no one makes this kind of things easier.” he replied, as lightly as he could.

He didn’t fool anyone.

“Nice bangle.” Eleven’s victor remarked, seemingly out of the blue.

Haymitch knew better.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out whom the bangle was from.

“Don’t start with that.” he warned.

He wasn’t in the mood to hear about Chaff’s disapproval regarding his not-so-secret affair with Effie. His best friend didn’t like her, loathed her even, and it was perfectly mutual. They usually made an effort when he was around but there was no love lost between them and if Effie was tactful enough not to meddle, Chaff had never been shy about _warning_ him against his stupidity. _Fucking_ a Capitol was okay, _fucking_ an escort was even better but _caring_ about them? Caring about them wasn’t done. Never mind when it was more than that.

“Yeah, about that…” Eleven’s victor drawled out, wrinkling his nose as if saying whatever he was about to say was paining him. “Maybe I was wrong.”

He scoffed. “What?”

“Look… It was still _pretty_ stupid to go and get enamored of an escort…” Chaff argued. “But… Given how things are turning out… I’m glad you got that. I’m glad you’ve got her now.”

It sounded genuine enough that he relaxed. 

“She’s not the worst, you know.” he muttered awkwardly, turning the bangle around his wrist.

“An escort and a victor…” Chaff sighed. “It was always heartbreak in the making, man. I was just looking out for you. That’s what friends do.”

Haymitch nodded and cleared his throat, the conversation a bit too serious to his tastes. “So what do you think they’ve got in store for us?”

“Something Quell worthy, I guess.” Eleven’s victor chuckled, bringing his flask to his mouth and wincing when he found it empty. He pocketed it and leaned against the roof’s edge, dark eyes staring down at the tiny ants partying in the streets rather than at him. “We’re not gonna kill each other, Haymitch. We cross paths, we walk away. Simple as that.”

He wasn’t surprised Chaff wasn’t proposing an outright alliance.

For an alliance to take place, there would have to be trust first.

There would be no trust possible in the arena, only objectives and ways to accomplish them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo Haymitch has his token, Katniss is making ennemies and they're definitely not getting allies... What do you think of that battle strategy? Do you think Haymitch and Chaff will be able to keep their deal? How did you like the other victors? Let me know your thoughts!


	20. Dead Man Walking

On the third night of Training, Haymitch woke up damp with sweat.

He was sitting, panting hard, eyes searching the dark corners of the room for… What? _Danger_. He gripped the handle of his knife harder, ready to jump at any possible threat. Ready to…

“Haymitch.”

He blinked as light flooded the bedroom.

He didn’t understand at first.

Effie was standing there in the crumpled tee-shirt he had worn all day, staring at him with uncertainty, her hands up in the air in a gesture of peace. His eyes darted around, surprised to find himself in her bedroom when he had been _so sure_ he was… _there_.

“It’s alright, Haymitch.” she coaxed slowly. “It was just a nightmare.”

There was nothing _just_ about his nightmare.

For her to have gotten out of bed – and _thank God_ she had gotten out of bed before he could stab her – it must have been a bad one.

He looked down at his hand, expecting his fingers and the handle of the knife to be covered in blood…

There was no knife. There was no knife because he never brought it to her room at night exactly in case this sort of things happened. Her hairbrush was trapped in his fist.

He had all the pain in the world letting go.

His breathing wasn’t calming down and he felt dizzy. His ears were ringing, his stomach was churning and he bolted out of bed and to the bathroom before he could be sick right there.

He kneeled in front of the toilets but it wouldn’t come out.

It wouldn’t…

He was aware Effie was hovering nearby, hesitating to approach yet.

He was shivering badly and, coupled with his short breathing, it was making it very difficult to remain conscious. He wanted to throw up, somehow confusedly thinking it would make him feel better. His stomach hurt and he gagged a few times but couldn’t actually manage to puke. He slumped on the open toilets without any care for how pitiful it must have looked. He was hot, too hot, like he was running a fever.

Images kept flashing in front of his eyes. 

Effie’s voice was coming from very far away.

She must have tossed caution to the wind because next thing he knew, there was a damp towel patting at his nape. He flinched when her hand grabbed his shoulder but he didn’t lash out. He was too weak to lash out.

He collapsed back against her. It took her aback and she almost overbalanced. She managed to keep them both steady though, as steady as they could be when they were sitting on the bathroom’s cold tiles in the dead of night.

The damp towel on his face was a relief and he clung to that feeling. He clung to that feeling with all his might and tried to ignore everything else. Block the images. Swallow back the panic.

The cloth left his cheek to run down on his throat, the back of his neck…

The shaking didn’t ease but the dizziness slowly receded, the nausea calmed down enough that he could try to work on his breathing. It wasn’t easy. It came out as loud heavy pants and every intake of breath was a painful whizzing punch to the chest.

“C… Cold.” he stuttered after a few minutes.

He wouldn’t have been able to sit by himself and she must have realized that because instead of fetching something warm, she simply shed her – _his –_ shirt and slipped it over his head, guiding his arms in the sleeves like one would have done with a child.

It wasn’t exactly a rampart against that cold that came from within but her body was warm enough and he burrowed into it. She discarded the towel and wrapped herself around him like an octopus, apparently getting the idea.

If anyone else had seen him like that, he might have been mortified.

_Effie…_ It wasn’t the first time. It was hard to be mortified with her when she had cleaned him up after he had been sick on himself more times than he could count. It was hard to be mortified when he had drunkenly ranted his pathetic life story to her enough times for her to know it by heart. It was hard to be mortified when she had seen him at his lowest point.

Sure, the lowest point wasn’t too far from this moment, because having panic attacks in the middle of the night didn’t rank high on his list of good times but…

Slowly, _painfully_ , he managed to get his breathing back under control until it came out in slightly heavy puffs.

“Do you want to try and go back to bed?” she asked, detached.

She wouldn’t make the mistake of sounding commiserating. She knew him too well. He didn’t want sympathy and she wouldn’t give it. She would give affection and fondness and… that word that still terrified him _sick_ but that he was becoming accustomed with because he was going to die so it _couldn’t_ be the death sentence it used to be, could it?

 He shook his head hard at her suggestion though.

There was no way he was lying back down, no way he would close his eyes again. Not without a bottle or two. Not without…

“Alright.” she agreed easily. “We can get up. I will have some tea brought for us in the living-room. We can play chess.”

“You… You suck at chess.” he pointed out through still chattering teeth.

“Poker, then.” she retorted. “You cannot beat me out at poker.”

“You wish.” he joked, for her sake more than his.

She helped him up and he tried not to feel too humiliated by that. She made sure his legs would hold before letting go, not meeting his eyes. She was naked now and he briefly entertained thoughts of funnier activities than a game of poker but he dismissed it quickly enough. He wasn’t in any shape to do that.

He checked the clock while she got dressed in silky blue shorts and a top. It was only three a.m. He knew she was tired from all her days of walking around on high heels and courting sponsors. He used to mock her for that but he had eventually understood it took energy to be so cheerful and bubbly all the time.

“You should go back to sleep.” he suggested half-heartedly.

She tied her silk dressing gown around her waist and picked up the sweatpants that had somehow gravitated to her room from the dresser. “I was not sleeping. I had a nightmare of my own. Truly, you are making me a favor by keeping me company.”

He wasn’t sure if she was lying or not but the perspective of killing time on his own until dawn rose was too daunting for him to insist. He put on the sweatpants and went in search of the stash of board games and cards that were stocked somewhere in a cupboard in the living-room – in case the tributes were in the mood for more games, he figured. They had used them occasionally when other victors had stayed for a late night drink.

He grabbed a few boxes of Effie’s favorites as well as the cards and the chessboard.

The living-room was cold, dark and empty and it made him shiver. He turned the lights to the maximum, as bright as they could go. There were flashes of colors from outside and he wandered to the bay window, wondering if the Capitol ever slept. It was a stupid question. He knew the answer to that, naturally.

He had always hated the Games parties but he would have taken them over being forced to get up for Training now.

He hated being back on the other side. The routine… Waking up at a designated time, sitting through advices during breakfast like he was a rookie and the boy had all the wisdom, heading down on the dot because Effie was obsessive about being on time and it wasn’t worth a fight, waiting for at least a good hour alone with Two’s victors for everyone else to show up, training _in itself_ …

Katniss hung around the mostly empty stations, stuff that the other tributes dismissed to focus on weaponry. Sometimes Haymitch stuck with her because he wasn’t in the mood for socializing. Sometimes he made an effort to mix with the others in an attempt to find out more about their weaknesses.

He had trained in hand to hand combat with Chaff that day. Eleven’s victor was swifter than expected but Haymitch was stronger and he had pinned him down in a couple of minutes, his arm wrapped tight around his friend’s throat in a move that could have been deadly. He could have snapped Chaff’s neck.

The instructor had congratulated him. Chaff had joked it off. The few who had stopped to watch had turned away with a new information to keep in mind: he could fight.

He had hated every second it.

The knowledge that it could so easily become real in a few days.

Johanna and Finnick were avoiding him and he wasn’t sure how he felt about _that_. He loved those kids but… He supposed putting some distance between the three of them wasn’t the worst idea. Mags had come to him a few times but their conversations had been mostly superficial aside for one or two vague exchanges about what had happened to make the rebellion collapse. People covertly came to him about that as if he had any answer.

He was envious.

He was envious of the boy who got to go to the parties, drink the booze, joke with their escort…

It didn’t help that he had grown so dependent on the comfort Effie could provide. It was pathetic, really. He was a grown man, not a teenager, and yet he behaved exactly like Katniss. 

Effie and Peeta had stayed out late the previous evening. It was probably sad how he and Katniss had lingered in front of movies neither of them had been watching just because they couldn’t go to bed by themselves. At least, Katniss could acknowledge that she was scared of having nightmares without Peeta there. Haymitch had muttered an unconvincing excuse about wanting to know how they had fared with sponsors.

He had never thought he would miss the city but being trapped in the Center really was doing nothing good to him. He missed the _freedom_ most of all. He would have given anything to be allowed out in the streets, to breathe the air that never felt _pure_ to him, to be free to wander all he wanted without Peacekeepers behind his back.

“I ordered teapots.” Effie declared, interrupting his musing. “I thought it would be easier than going back to the kitchen every five minutes.”

They had barely settled down on either side of the coffee table – and he wondered what the kids would have to say if they got up and stumbled on them sitting cross-legged on the expensive rug like overgrown children – when the redheaded Avox girl whose sight had upset Katniss the previous year rolled a cart with two steaming teapots in the room.

“Thanks.” he mumbled automatically.

“Thank you, I will pour.” Effie said distractedly. “You may go back to bed. I will ring if I need anything else.”

The girl gave her an obedient nod and disappeared back in the dark corridors.

He swallowed back a remark on the way she treated Avoxes. She was more polite than most as it was and it always led to an argument anyway – because to her eyes they were criminals – so he let it rest. He didn’t have the energy to get into that tonight.

She was still so prejudiced on certain things…

She poured them two mugs while he dealt the cards.

They played two rounds, betting stupid things like oral or different sex positions… It was mostly for fun since neither of them was keeping tracks. Haymitch couldn’t quite focus, his body felt heavy like often after a panic attack, and Effie was far too good at bluffing. She was seriously kicking his ass but he didn’t mind. His favorite herbal tea went a long way into soothing his fray nerves. It would have been better with some whiskey in it but… He guessed you couldn’t have everything.

The smell of Effie’s strawberry tea was comforting too. Familiar.

She probably would have preferred white wine.

His eyes lingered on the only piece of jewelry she had on. The iris shaped ring was taunting him. It looked like she never took it off. She wore it to bed. She kept it in the shower. She kept it under her delicate lace gloves…

It wasn’t that she liked the ring so much, he figured, the diamond was too small compared to the huge rings she favored and the crafted petals and leaves were too discreet for her flashy tastes. It was the fact that _he_ had given it to her. He had meant this as something she could sometimes take out of her box of memories and… _Recollect_.

If he had known she wanted some actual jewelry to wear…

The ring was inconspicuous because it was so simple. Nothing was ever so plain and simple in the Capitol. He would have gotten her a shiny pink gemstone or something. 

His own train of thoughts took him aback.

She was wearing that ring like some sort of proof of commitment. She was wearing it on her left hand. She was never taking it off. She was treating it like a wedding band. He had never intended it like that. He had asked nothing. He had never claimed strings were attached to the gift. Granted, she had never mentioned or requested anything but the way she wore the ring was enough. _She was treating it like a wedding band._  

And his only reaction to that was wishing he had gotten her a _proper_ ring?

He was a dead man walking. He had nothing to offer her. Anything they would do would have no long term meaning.

And it was dangerous.

Except…

He _was_ a dead man walking.

What does the Capitol care about who he slept with? It didn’t matter anymore. They had no reason to hold anyone against him. They were done with him.

 “You want to have a toasting?”

The question passed his lips before he could hold it back.

He couldn’t get a real ring and it was probably for the best. That ring was simple. Like him. It wasn’t fake or…

Maybe he could give her something else anyway.

She had been studying her cards and she choked on her mouthful of tea. She coughed hard into the back of her hand, her bright eyes riveted on him.

“My apologies, what did you just say?” she asked.

He was considering suggesting they played it at poker when the scream echoed throughout the penthouse.

_Katniss_.

He was on his feet in seconds, heart racing in his chest, suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, hands patting at his waist for a weapon that wasn’t there. He would have rushed head first deep into the penthouse if Effie hadn’t planted herself in his path, hands wrapped tight around his forearms.

Her lips were moving but it took him a few seconds to actually _hear_.

“She is fine. It is just a nightmare.” she promised. “ _Haymitch_. She is _fine_. Peeta is with her.”

He eventually accepted the words as truth. It was a minute or two before he relaxed though.

“She died.” he said flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” she frowned.

He swallowed hard and reached for her elbows. Their hands trailed down their forearms until they found each others. “In my nightmare. She died. They _all_ died.” Only thinking about it was enough to make him nauseous again. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, defeated. His voice broke. “I can’t fail her.”

“You won’t.” she promised immediately. She stepped in his space and cupped his cheek. He leaned in her caress, not quite comforted by that oath. Her voice became tentative. “Haymitch, you will do _everything_ you can to keep her alive, I know this. _Peeta_ knows this. _She_ might not but she is…”

“An ass.” he finished for her in a snort. He wasn’t sure Katniss was totally aware of what the plan was. She treated the whole thing as if they were both aiming to get out of there. He suspected it was too much for her to accept what he was willing to do for her. It was alright. He could live – and die – with that.

“Quite.” Effie approved, her thumb retracing the line of his cheekbone. “But… You know as well as I do that Games are _never_ predictable. You will do _everything_ you can but if she doesn’t survive…”

“No.” he spat, storming away from her and to the bay window. “ _No_. She needs to win this, you understand? She _needs_ to…” His voice faltered. “I can’t fail her. I failed everyone else. I _can’t_ fail her.”

She didn’t ask who he was referring to. She was smart enough to understand.

His mother. Hayden. Mabel.

His family gone in smoke.

It was all a mess in his head. _He_ was a mess.

He flinched when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face between his shoulder blades but he didn’t push her away.

“Not dying for her is _not_ failing her, darling.” she whispered carefully. “I am _simply_ saying…”

“Well, _don’t_.” he snapped.

He waited for her to argue but she kept her peace and it made him feel… He had never expected her to accept this whole thing so easily. She was selfish. _Always_ so selfish. Shouldn’t she be begging for him to get out no matter what? To throw Katniss and everyone else to the wolves and… 

How horrible a man was he to want her, to _need_ her, to say those words?

They had made a pledge, long ago. It had gone unvoiced and unacknowledged but it had always been implied that if they ever won, they would do everything they could to protect their victors. He had never thought it would be like _this_. He had thought it would be the classical stuff: the prostitution, the Capitol’s usual threats, the own stubborn stupidity of every new victor… What they hadn’t bet on was caring so much for those kids.

They might as well have been their own.

They shared them.

He wasn’t just going to save Katniss for his own conscience. It was for her too. For Peeta.

It was a noble sacrifice but, unfortunately, being noble had never been of any comfort to him. Dead was dead. It didn’t matter how it happened or how noble it had been.

Dead was dead and he didn’t want to die.

He _really_ didn’t want to die.

He wanted someone to want him to _not die_ too.

Was that so wrong?

Was that so wrong to want someone in _his_ corner?

Was that so wrong to want someone to choose _him_?

Was that so wrong to want someone to love him as much as he loved those children?

“What are you even saying that for? You’re rooting for her anyway.” he accused bitterly. It was unfair maybe. _Probably_. He had asked her to accept it, he hadn’t given her a choice, he had told her…

She pressed a kiss over the fabric of his shirt, moving her hands up from his waist to grab his shoulders from behind, plastering herself even more to his back.

“It kills me, you know.” she said softly. “The thought of the two of you being tossed in there… The fact that I know only one of you will come back… _Might_ come back… The fact that a part of me hopes it won’t be her…”

“Effie.” he snarled. He had been _wrong_. He _didn’t_ want to hear those words. It felt like betraying their victors. Like…

“I know.” she chuckled. “I am a _terrible_ person. The worst is… I love her. I _do_. But you… Haymitch, _you_ …”

“Never meant to be.” he reminded her in a sneer.

“You do not believe in fate.” she retorted. “Stop hiding behind it. What does this even mean… _Meant to be._ We were. We _are_. I maintain it is _enough_.”

“It’s easier if…” he sighed.

“ _Nothing_ about this is easy.” she cut him off. “I love Katniss. I will do my best to help save her and so will you. But if we do not succeed, if she does _not_ survive, I _won’t_ sit here and give up. I will get _you_ sponsors. I will do _everything_ I can to save _you_. Katniss comes first but do _not_ ask me to watch you die without a fight. I _will_ fight. With all I have. ”

He briefly closed his eyes before turning around to hug her close.

“I don’t want to die.” he confessed in her hair. “But I’m not sure I’d know how to survive this, sweetheart. If it comes to that… Might be kinder to… let me go.”

“No.” she refused calmly and flatly. She was stating a fact, not having a discussion. “It is preposterous to speculate anyway. We won’t know until we are there. And _when_ we are…”

“We save Katniss.” he finished.

“We _try_ to save Katniss.” she amended.

She brushed her lips against his neck, brushed words against his skin.

He melt in those words even if he left them unacknowledged yet again.

He had forgotten how it felt to _feel_ them. He had forgotten and now…

He leaned in to kiss her, to somehow try to pay her back in kind…

The sound of footsteps broke the spell and they jumped apart just in time not to be surprised by the two sleepy looking teenagers.

“Oh, this _won’t_ do!” Effie clucked her tongue, self-consciously patting her bare blond hair. He wasn’t sure she had ever been caught without her wig by one of the kids. “You both need your beauty sleep and…”

“No.” Katniss refused with the same determination Haymitch had showed earlier, hugging herself.

Peeta’s arm immediately wrapped around her shoulders in a protective embrace. The boy gaze passed on them and to the abandoned cards on the table. “Can we play with you?”

Effie blinked - about to insist they should try to get some proper sleep, Haymitch was sure.

“Depends.” he shrugged, settling back on the rug and patting the empty space next to him so their escort would sit. “You know how to play poker?”

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t.

Teaching them was fun. Katniss was helpless at it and drank half the strawberry tea, to Effie’s dismay. Peeta caught up quickly and turned out to be good. Haymitch laughed more than once when it came to a battle between the boy and their escort.

Nobody could bluff like Effie though and so she won most of the rounds.

They moved on to a board game after a while.

Katniss ended up falling asleep with her head on Peeta’s shoulder a little after five. The boy carried her back to bed.

“You should try to get an hour or two of rest too.” Effie advised. “You cannot be tired during Training.”

“You know we mostly joke around and only throw stuff once in awhile, yeah?” he mocked, rubbing his eyes.

He let her drag him back to bed by hooking her fingers around his gold bangle though. He had _known_ there was a hidden purpose to that thing. 

She crawled on top of his chest and settled there like a warm blanket.

He coiled his fingers around her nape, slowly rubbing his thumb up and down her neck. She made her ring turn thoughtfully around her finger.

Neither of them slept.

Neither of them talked either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo what do we think? There was a semi-proposal! haha! Damn Katniss' timing right? Will Haymitch get her a proper ring do you think? What a night! Let me know your thoughts!


	21. Gone In Three Days

Haymitch kept on scribbling on the piece of paper he had snatched from Effie’s notebook while she wasn’t looking, trying to make it readable. His penmanship, as his escort had often pointed out over the years, was atrocious. Having less than steady fingers wasn’t exactly helping with that.

He was vaguely listening to the banter the kids were exchanging over their breakfast, something about how Katniss could have lived on hot chocolate alone…

Effie was uncharacteristically withdrawn. She was sitting between him and the boy and she had been stirring her coffee for the past fifteen minutes, a yoghurt opened and forgotten in front of her. She was staring into space.

Haymitch glanced at her from time to time but didn’t try to engage her in conversation. She had cried the previous night and it had been very awkward – mostly because it had happened right after he had made her climax with his mouth. He had tried to comfort her but nothing he had said had worked. She had run from the room and had only returned hours later, smelling of cigarettes and tasting like white wine.

He wasn’t sure where she had gone. Two’s floor maybe. It seemed Two’s escort wasn’t doing well either, the dark bags under Valeria’s eyes were visible despite the heavy make-up.

She had hold on longer than he had thought. The last day of Training… It meant he would be gone in three days and that… He wasn’t sure how to help her accept _that_. He was barely accepting it himself.

“Have you decided what you would do for your private sessions?” Effie asked suddenly, putting an effective end to the light mood.

“I don’t know.” Katniss shrugged casually, leaning over the table to steal Peeta’s untouched toast.

“Perhaps you should take this more _seriously_ , then.” their escort snapped, surprising everyone. “Those scores could make all the difference and yet, here you are, without a _single_ care in the world.”

“Without a single care in the world?” the girl repeated with a sneer.

He and Peeta exchanged a look.

The boy cleared his throat. “Maybe, we should…”

“I do not see you committing, Katniss.” Effie hissed. “Ever since the Reaping…”

“Sorry I’m not the perfect victor you dreamed about.” Katniss spat. “You want me to be more like Enobaria, maybe? You want me to say how _awesome_ it is to go back?”

“I never claimed anything of the sort!” she retorted.

“Then what are you saying?” the girl snorted. “How do you want me to _commit_?”

“Perhaps you could _stop_ pretending Haymitch is not going to die to save your life, for a start!” Effie scowled, her voice rising and her accent becoming even sharper. “Perhaps you could stop being selfish and realize that what you do _matters_! Perhaps you could take a minute to _think_ about what you are going to show the Gamemakers instead of joking about hot chocolate like it is the most important thing in the world right now!”

Her words were followed by a heavy silence. Peeta was rubbing his forehead and staring at his plate. Katniss and Effie were glaring at each other. And Haymitch… Haymitch wasn’t quite sure how to react.

He railed in his instinctive annoyance, signed the letter and folded it in four, aware that not addressing the issue would not solve anything but not sure anything he could say would make it better either.

Effie was losing it.

He had known it would happen eventually but he had selfishly hoped she would only collapse once he was gone. He didn’t know how to do this. She was the strong one. Always had been.

She was the one who kept them all together, who insisted on hoping until the very last second…

He didn’t know how to do that.

“I never asked Haymitch _anything_.” Katniss snarled. “I never asked _anyone_ anything. I don’t need anyone. I don’t…”

“Oh, will you stop!” Effie cut her off sharply. “I know you suffered in the past, Katniss, but you are so… _entitled._ ”

“ _I_ am _entitled_?” The girl almost started laughing. “ _You_ ’re calling me _entitled_?”

“Let’s not go _there_.” Haymitch warned firmly. “’Cause the way I see it, you’re both behaving like brats right now.”

“I never asked you anything.” Katniss spat, pointing an accusing finger at him. “ _Never_. It was your choice to go and get whipped for me. Or to do… _whatever_. I _didn’t_ ask you to do anything for _me_. All I said was we needed to keep _Peeta_ out. I didn’t ask you to _protect_ me. That’s _not_ on me.”

“Do you even _hear_ yourself?” Effie shouted, half rising from her chair, and the kids both recoiled because it was the first time they had seen her so… _angry_. Her composure was gone, the mask was off… “You are an ungrateful little…”

He slammed his fist on the table and she fell silent.

_Everyone_ fell silent. 

“Sit down, sweetheart.” he demanded. “And try to remember you’re a lady, yeah? You’re so fond of reminding us we’re the ones without manners, it’d be a shame for you to start acting barbaric.”

Effie glared at him but she _did_ sit back down, properly chastised. Her cheeks were visibly flushed under the white powder.

“My apologies.” she said at last, with a clipped voice. “You are right. I did not mean to lose my temper. I _simply_ think it would not be remiss to show some commitment to this team.”

“Maybe I should hang a dummy and paint Crane’s name over it. It _sure_ would make an impression. Or maybe I can burn it and write Cinna on it instead. _That_ ’s commitment enough for you?” Katniss sneered.

Effie let out a shocked gasp and hastily looked up as if searching for the bugs. Panic was written all over her face. Panic and sadness. That was a low blow. “How do you even… _Who_ told you about Seneca? How can you… You _cannot_ say those _horrible_ things, Katniss!”

“Good riddance.” the girl insisted. “From all the people the Capitol killed, Crane was the worst.”

“Now, that’s unfair and absolutely…” Effie started, her eyes bright with tears. Her voice broke and she stormed out before she could completely lose her composure.

Peeta let out the breath he had been holding as soon as she was gone. “That wasn’t nice, Katniss.”

“She’s the one who attacked me!” the girl said defensively. She didn’t look quite at ease, though. Haymitch supposed she knew she had crossed a line. “And how was I supposed to know she loved Crane so much?”

She could be so _stupid_ sometimes.

Haymitch pocketed his letter and stood up, glaring at the girl. “It’s not about you or Crane. It’s the whole thing. She’s upset.”

“Upset by what?” she scoffed. “The possibility we don’t get perfect scores?”

He shook his head at her. “You’re so clueless, girl. Must be nice to be you, not care whose feelings you hurt.”

“Haymitch.” Peeta reproached.

He waved his hand and left the boy to explain or to elude. He didn’t quite care about who knew what anymore.

Effie wasn’t in her room so he headed up to the roof, not really surprised to find her sitting on the ground with her back to the wall and an unlit cigarette in her hand. The lighter and the packet were lying a few feet away where they had obviously been tossed in frustration.

She looked up at him, her cheeks bathed in tears, clear pinkish tracks in the white powder, and he sighed.

He sat next to her and simply embraced her when she crawled on his lap like a child. She buried her face in his neck and he rubbed her back while she cried, propping his head against the wall at his back, watching the blue sky overhead.

“You were unfair.” he told her once the sobs turned to hiccups.

“Life is unfair.” she countered. “You taught me that.”

“Come on.” he chided. “You’re not angry with _her_ and you know it.”

“She treats this whole thing as a joke!” she snapped. “She does not realize…”

“Course, she _does_.” he snorted. “She just doesn’t know how to deal with it so she’s got that stupid idea in her head that I can do whatever I want, she’s still gonna have my back. Maybe she’s even thinking she’s gonna help me win. Who knows with that girl… Joke’s on her, though.”

“The things she said about Seneca… About the private sessions…” she insisted.

He squeezed her nape. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. Won’t lie, it’d have some spirit but we can’t afford making Gamemakers mad at us. They’re probably already out for our blood as it is.”

“Promise me.” she begged. “Promise me she won’t pull any of those stunts. We already got in trouble last year for her shooting at them. We cannot…”

_In trouble_ was a light way of putting it. Gamemakers had screamed at him for almost an hour about the arrow Katniss had shot at them.

“I promise.” He bumped his chin against her forehead. “We’re gonna be _very_ boring. I’ll throw knives… She can do fishhooks or whatever. Boring and safe.”

“Thank you.” she breathed out in relief.

He pressed a kiss against her wig. “You can’t lose it like that, sweetheart. I need you to keep it together. Peeta’s too green. You’re the one we’re gonna count on out there.”

“I know.” she whispered. “I apologize.”

“Don’t…” He sighed. “I ain’t looking for an apology. I know it’s not…”

“You are right.” she interrupted. “I should be… I should be _stronger_. For the children, at least.” She shook her head. “I just… I wish Katniss would…”

“It’s Katniss. Not much to expect there.” he snorted, leaning in to capture her mouth. His fingertips danced on her jaw, angling her head the way he wanted it. “We don’t have much time left.”

He had hoped the kiss would soften it but her face crumpled in pain. “I know.”

“Tomorrow, we take a day off.” he told her. “No chasing after sponsors and no prepping.”

“But the interviews…” she immediately argued.

He shut her up with another kiss. “Prepping the girl never worked before and I’m used to all that _shit_. We don’t need _that_. We need… It’s gonna be our last day.” She turned her head away but he gently grabbed he chin and forced her to look at him. “It’s gonna be our last day. I wanna spend mine with you.” He caressed her cheek, catching some wayward tears, and then coiled his hand around her nape. It _would_ be their last day of freedom. The day of the interviews was usually filled with far too much prepping, last minute advices and a lot of panic. There wouldn’t be much free time. And the night before the launch… They wouldn’t enjoy that. “Let the kids have their day together. Hell, maybe Katniss will finally figure out she loves him before it’s too late…”

Effie chuckled but it was more hollow than amused. “It took _you_ thirteen years.”

It wasn’t a very subtle dig for words he wasn’t ready to utter yet.

“Let’s hope she’s quicker.” he smirked, stealing another kiss.

She surrendered to that one without any reserve.

They got lost in it like they tended to do. She shifted so she was straddling his thighs rather than sitting on his lap, her hands sneaked beneath his shirt… There was no easy access to her skin, not with the blue puffy dress she had on but he didn’t let that deter him. He copped a feel where he could and squeezed the curviest parts of her…

“You will be late.” she mumbled against his lips.

“Too bad.” he dismissed, deepening the next kiss so far that she moaned. That sound shot straight to his groin.

“Haymitch…” she begged. For him to stop or to continue, he wasn’t sure. He kissed the line of her jaw, down her throat… The nails she dug in his shoulders were painful. “Enough. _Enough_. We don’t have time for this.”

“I’ll be quick.” he promised with a smirk, finally managing to sneak his hands under her dress.

“You are _impossible_.” she hissed but still lifted her hips enough that he could open his pants.

She coiled one hand at the back of his nape and pulled him into a violent kiss, her other hand sneaked in his underwear and stroke him to hardness. She was on top and in control and he couldn’t do anything but follow her lead.

There were worse things though.

He bit down on her collarbone and got told off about it at length, even as she rode him hard. How she could still lecture him when his own mind had gone straight to the gutter and remained there, he wasn’t sure.

Her orgasm hit her mid-sentence and he would probably have laughed if it hadn’t triggered his.

He was definitely late now but it was well worth it.

They sat there for a long time. He distractedly caressed her arm and she rested her forehead on his shoulder.

“I need a favor.” he asked at last.

“Anything.” she whispered.

He reached in his pocket and struggled to extract the now crumpled note. “Get that to Alina and introduce the boy.”

She frowned but safely placed the note in her corsage, where nobody would find it. “Why?”

“Because there won’t be many victors left after this Quell and she’s the one I know best.” he shrugged. “The kids are gonna need a mentor.”

She clenched her jaw and gave a brief rigid nod. “Is that all there is in the note?”

There was more than just curiosity in her voice, a touch of jealousy maybe.

“Effie.” he sighed.

“I know you have a history.” she replied defensively. “I would not fault you for… I would not mind if…”

He snorted at that. “You’d mind.”

Her fingers hooked around the gold bangle in a possessive gesture.

“Perhaps I would. A little.” she admitted. “However… I would also give you everything you want, Haymitch.”

“I’m just asking her to take care of the kids.” he retorted, a bit annoyed to have to justify himself. “And herself. Nothing else.”

“Alright.” she accepted, perking up a little. Her face was a mess. She looked like she had melted. He cupped her cheek and clumsily tried to make it better but make-up wasn’t his strength and he only ended up making it worse. She wrinkled her nose. “I must be a sight.”

“Sad clown.” he teased, stealing a kiss.

“That is _quite_ the appropriate description.” she confessed against his lips. “We cannot stay here all day.” 

“Private sessions aren’t before this afternoon.” he pointed out. “Leaves us with the whole morning…”

“I have work to do.” she protested with a last deep kiss. Then, she stood up and there was no holding her back. He watched her disappear down the stairs that led back to the penthouse and took his time fixing his clothes. He picked up her cigarettes and lighter too, in case the kids found it and thought it was a good idea to start smoking.

He dropped them on his nightstand once he was back in his room to change his make-up stained shirt. Peeta knocked on the door just as he was slipping on a new one.

“I’m sorry but you really need to go down now.” the boy said, after clearing his throat.

“Katniss’ already gone?” he asked.

“An hour ago.” Peeta confirmed. “About earlier…”

“Be extra nice with Effie today.” Haymitch instructed. “If you think she’s about to lose it, pull her aside. It’s a dangerous game. Nobody can see how close she is. Got it?”

The boy nodded and Haymitch patted his shoulder on his way out.

The elevator ride felt endless and lonely. It wasn’t comforting to think it would be the last time.

Everyone seemed more invested in training that morning than ever since the beginning of the week. Katniss was working on learning to differentiate poisonous roots from edible ones. He gave her a wide berth for now, joining Chaff and Brutus at the spear station instead.

“Problem leaving the bed, buddy?” Eleven’s victor mocked. He wasn’t really in the mood for that kind of jokes and his glare must have been answer enough because Chaff lifted his hand and his stump in the air in a peace gesture. “ _Okay_. The kid said you were running late, she didn’t say _why_.”

He grabbed a spear and tossed it with the same relative results as usual. He had become a bit better at it since they had started training but it still wasn’t enough. He could touch the dummy. Sometimes. Never where it would kill anyone.

“They should get it.” Brutus said, seemingly out of the blue. If Effie had gone to Valeria the previous night though, there were chances Brutus had heard about it. “We’re _victors_. That’s what we’re born for.” Two’s victor shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The thrill of the fight… It’s worth any woman. If you come back and get the glory, you can find another one.”

Chaff was wincing and very much staring at his feet.

Haymitch sneered but didn’t gratify that with an answer. He stormed to the empty snares work station and struggled for hours with the too thin leather stripes that his unsteady fingers couldn’t tame. He simmered in his frustration and anger all morning until it was time for lunch.

He was still scowling when he took his place in the line between Mags and Cecelia. Mags patted his arm with a sympathetic face and advised him to take a deep breath. He tried to listen but it was… difficult.

He hated when Effie was upset.

It was stupid, maybe, all the more so given how much time he had dedicated to upsetting her in the past… However, there was upset and _upset_. He liked riling her up, he liked nagging until she snapped… He liked getting under her skin. This? It wasn’t that kind of upset. It was the bad kind. She was in pain. And his instinct ordered him to find whatever was hurting her and destroy it.

Except he had already tried to destroy the Capitol and look how that had ended up…

Katniss joined him next to the dessert cart, as he was trying to decide if he wanted the chocolate cake or cheese or both. She grabbed a piece of cake and awkwardly lingered, shuffling her weight from one foot to the other.

“Spit it out.” he snapped eventually.

“I’ll apologize when we’re back.” she sighed.

“Good.” he commented. Effie would probably have an apology ready for the girl too but it was best to let her stew a little - Katniss tended to think she knew everything better than anyone.

“I didn’t know she was so upset.” she insisted. “I mean… I _knew_ she was upset but not… Not that much.”

“She loves you.” he snorted, snatching the cake, the cheese and some apple pie for good measure.

“I thought you hated each other.” she commented as they made their way to the table. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

“We’ve known each other thirteen years, girl.” he scoffed. “Even if we weren’t friends… You think it’d be easy to send someone you’ve known for so long to their death? She’s not the only escort who’s upset, I guarantee it.”

Escorts had been very subdued during their official appearances. Sure, it could be because almost all of them would be replaced the next year but… You got attached to people. Even if you didn’t see eye to eye with them. It was _human_ to get attached.

“I like her, you know.” Katniss made a face. “She’s kind in her own way. It’s just…”

“She’s Capitol.” he finished for her. “Capitols act a certain way. For some, it’s genuine. For others…” He shrugged and placed his tray down at his usual spot, distractedly clapping Chaff’s shoulder as he sat down. His attention was all on Katniss though. “While we’re on _that_ subject… Learn not to say _bullshit_ everywhere, yeah? ‘Cause what you said this morning? _Where_ you said it? Stupid and dangerous.”

Katniss frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Walls have ears, love.” Chaff piped in from his other side, leaning to snatch the wine bottle from further down the table. “The sooner you learn that, the better.”

“Play the game when you’re not sure who’s listening.” Haymitch added.

Her grey eyes studied Chaff, wary and mistrustful, and then darted back to him. “I didn’t say anything _bad_.”

“The moment you saw Effie was getting upset and went completely off-script, you should have nicked it in the bud.” he countered. “That sort of things happen, you suggest getting some fresh air. On the roof. Outside. _Whatever_. You want to discuss _heavy shit_ , make sure you do it in _private_.”

“Trinket lost it?” Chaff asked, low enough that it would remain between the three of them. “Bound to happen. Even _Viola_ ’s less cheerful than I expected. Can you believe she made sure I had a double ration of scrambled eggs this morning?”

“Careful, you’re gonna screw her before you know it.” he joked.

Katniss let out a shocked noise – sex was always a big no-no with her – but Chaff’s scoff was clearly disgusted.

“Don’t give me nightmares.” Eleven’s victor snorted before recounting a funny anecdote about his escort’s awful behavior for Katniss’ sake.

It helped relax the girl, at least.

Haymitch was far from relaxed.

He was dreading having to perform for the Gamemakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is alternatively titled "Trinket lost it?" haha. It was bound to happen, wasn't it? How did you enjoy this chapter? Effie's breakdown? Katniss being her blind self? Peeta being forced to keep the peace? What about that day off before the interviews? What are your predictions on that? Next week we meet someone new! Care to guess who? Let me know your thoughts!


	22. Double Or Fold

They kept the conversation light to pass the time until the moment they would have to leave the cafeteria. Johanna tossed a gibe in Katniss’ direction from time to time but, other than that, they all managed to keep the pretense of a friendly mood. Everyone made fun about what they were going to do in front of the Gamemakers, half of them still having no clue. Finnick, triggering a general laughter. He took a bow.

Gloss was the first to disappear through the doors and Cashmere stared at them the whole time, drumming nervous fingers on the table.

Mags declared she would just take a nap, which prompted some more laughter. Haymitch figured that meant she would weave herself a hammock.

It got progressively quieter. By the time Cecelia disappeared through the doors, nobody was talking anymore.

It was hard, Haymitch figured, not to remember the last time they had sat there and waited for their own turn. He had ignored Maysilee and Dina, the last time, had refused to acknowledge them because even if they had been from home, they would soon become opponents.

Once Seeder had left, Haymitch nudged the girl’s arm. “I promised Effie we were gonna be very boring, get it?”

“No touching the dummies. I get it.” she sighed, half joking.

“Shoot.” he advised.

“I can’t really shoot at them, this year. They added a force field.” she pointed out.

He hadn’t been sure she had noticed the force field. Good.

“Shoot like the other day.” he insisted.

“What are you going to do?” she asked curiously.

“Throw knives, I guess.” he shrugged. What else was there? When the door opened, he stood up and patted her shoulder. “See you on the other side.”

The Gamemakers barely paid any attention to him. Heavensbee watched but Haymitch couldn’t tell if the man would turn to be a friend or a foe. They had gotten along pretty well before the Tour, before Coin had…

Thinking about Thirteen was enough to get him mad and he tossed one of the knives so hard, he accidentally beheaded the dummy he was aiming at. _That_ caught the Gamemakers’ attention. Maybe it would get him some points.

The penthouse was empty when he came back and he flopped down on the couch, thinking a nap wouldn’t go amiss. He couldn’t quite stop thinking long enough to fall asleep though and it was a relief when Katniss showed up twenty minutes later.

They ended up playing cards to waste time. She was unsurprisingly still _atrocious_ at poker.

“I was thinking…” she hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at the cards in her hand with obvious confusion.

“When you think, it usually ends badly.” he remarked. “Just play. Double or fold.”

She doubled but she was obviously distracted, fiddling with the peanuts they were using as chips.

“Do you think I should write something? For Prim and my mom. In case…” Her voice trailed off and she tossed another peanut on the stock in the middle.

“If you think you need to.” he shrugged.

“I’m not good at saying that sort of stuff.” she scowled.

“Maybe writing’s easier for you.” he pointed out, laying his cards down. He had won again. It wasn’t that funny a game. He dealt more cards.  

“Who were you writing to? This morning.” she asked, very much intruding and very much not caring.

“Didn’t know it was your business.” he snorted.

She rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to say, just say that.”

“I don’t want to say.” he smirked.

She sulked for ten minutes, lost three more times and then crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Peeta keeps hinting.” she snapped. “I’m not stupid, I can take a hint. Just don’t see how you would have a secret girlfriend without me knowing. The only women you ever talk to are me, my mom, Hazelle and Sae.” She shrugged. “It’s not me, Sae’s too old… Hazelle would never and we’re not even going to talk about my mom.”

Always forgetting Effie, he noted.

“Actually, both your mom and Hazelle had the hots for me in high school.” he replied smugly. “I was the prize.”

“Haymitch! _Gross_!” she objected. She tossed a fistful of peanuts at his head.

He wasn’t sure how it escalated to an outright war but peanuts flew everywhere. He had just ducked behind the couch and Katniss was hiding behind the armchair, the two of them laughing like they had gone off-hinge – which they probably had – when someone cleared their throat.

They both looked at Effie with sheepish looks on their faces. Their escort was standing there with her hands on her hips, her features schooled in disapproval and her lips pursed in annoyance. Peeta was doing his best not to laugh, staring hard at the peanuts covered floor. The Capitol man hanging out behind them seemed amused too if the way he was rubbing his mouth to hide his smile was any indication.

Haymitch casually stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. “How’s it doing, sweetheart?”

“ _How_ do you think?” she hissed. “I was hoping to introduce Mr Harwyn to _sane_ individuals.”

“Got the wrong floor for that, I’m afraid.” he taunted, studying the guy. He was old and it was visible despite the plastic surgeries. In his seventies or eighties, it was hard to say for sure. He was clutching a walking stick made of a dark twisty wood carved like spirals, with a big shiny ruby on top but it was hard to say if it was a simple accessory or something he needed. White fluffy hair rose around his head like a lion’s mane and a carefully trimmed beard covered his chin. His green eyes were sparkling with amusement though. “New stylist, right?”

“ _Please_ , be polite.” Effie demanded. “Mr Harwyn is a _great_ friend of mine and I would like you to make a good impression. It is _important_ to me.” She turned to the stylist with a bright smile as if nothing had happened and they hadn’t walked straight into a food fight. “Sir, may I introduce Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen.”

She didn’t usually call anyone _sir_ and he lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the genuine respect and deference in her voice.

The man was the first stylist who had taken her on, he remembered eventually. He was the one who had discovered her and launched her career or something. She really liked him.

Haymitch just hoped he was as good as she claimed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Abernathy. I heard a lot about you from our Effie.” Harwyn answered, outstretching his hand. Haymitch shook it because Effie’s glare told him it wasn’t optional and because the man didn’t seem that bad. “I must say, my dear, I see the appeal.” Effie squeaked in embarrassment and visibly blushed but the stylist just laughed and turned to Katniss. “As for you, Miss Everdeen, Cinna was right to make you his muse. You have fire in your eyes.”

“You knew Cinna?” Katniss asked, shaking the hand he offered her.

“Cinna did his apprenticeship in Mr Harwyn’s designer house.” Effie informed them. “I am confident you will all _love_ his work. And I hope you all appreciate the _huge_ favor he is doing us. Mr Harwyn hasn’t…”

“Enough, Effie. You will make an old man blush.” the stylist protested. He nodded at Haymitch. “I was a tyrant, you see. My former models are all still terrified of me.”

His gaze, when it turned to Effie, was fond, though.

“Oh, that is _not_ true at all!” Effie protested. She paused and then waved her hand in the air. “It _might_ be true for some but not for me. I was always your favorite.”

She sounded smug about that. As if it was a badge of honor to wear proudly on her chest.

“And you never let them forget for one second.” Harwyn chuckled. “You were my favorite because you were the best. You earned my appreciation.”

“If Cinna worked for you, does that mean we won’t end up showing our privates on TV again?” Haymitch cut in. “Those sets are chilly, you know. Won’t be to my advantage.”

“Haymitch!” Effie snapped. “I will _murder_ you if you do not mind your language.”

“Get in line.” he deadpanned. A shadow passed on her face and he immediately regretted it. “ _Fine_. Sorry, Faun.”

“ _Mr Harwyn_.” she corrected between her teeth. “ _Nobody_ calls Mr Harwyn by his first name. Do you know who he _is_?” He looked at the kids but they looked just as puzzled as he was. Well, Peeta looked less puzzled but Haymitch figured he had already heard the lecture. Effie’s voice was rising _high_. “He is _the god of fashion_. Nobody _ever_ was as good as him. He won so many awards… He did _so much_ to advance fashion…”

“He’s your hero.” he chuckled eventually. “Yeah. We all got it.”

“Behave!” she ordered, as if he had just committed the most horrible _faux pas_.

It was a little funny to watch her around her fashion mentor. She was dedicated to making him feel welcome and at ease, apologizing several times over the lack of alcohol in the penthouse, asking if he wanted her to fetch some from another floor, making sure he had the _best_ seat in the room… The kids were having troubles not laughing and Haymitch didn’t make their life easier by tossing a couple of gibes in her direction.

She had brought the man so they could meet him before the interviews – since they always spent half the day with the stylists on those days – and, of course, the launch. Harwyn told them he had enlisted the help of another stylist, a former assistant of his – what he didn’t say but that was clearly implied was that there would be _no_ problem with that person.

Effie was running everywhere and wouldn’t sit still for more than two minutes at a time. It made it very complicated for him and Katniss to sum up their private sessions. Not that it was really interesting anyway.

When the moment came to turn the TV on and watch the scores… Haymitch wasn’t sure he really wanted to find out.

Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, Enobaria and Finnick all got high scores, the highest being Finnick who pulled an eleven. Predictable. Everyone else ranged from two to eight. 

Effie’s fingers grabbed his when it was his turn. They made the suspense last. His picture was occupying the entire screen, the box reserved for his score underneath remained empty while Caesar chatted about how he had created the surprise at the parade and wondered if it would happen again that night…

When the gold number appeared, Effie breathed out a sigh of relief.

_Nine_.

Nine was good. It put him up there with the Careers lot.

“Must be the dummy beheading.” he said, a bit stunned. “Don't tell them it was a fluke.”

“It is very good, darling. _Very_ good.” Effie praised distractedly. “We can _absolutely_ work with that. I can sell it. You are already in good position on the betting boards… This will make you go higher. This is _perfect_.”

He bristled at the pet name and awkwardly glanced around. Peeta deliberately avoided his eyes and the stylist lifted an eyebrow. The man probably knew Effie well enough to see through the veneer. She trusted him though and she didn’t trust lightly. Haymitch forced himself to relax.

Not surprisingly, Katniss didn’t so much as notice.

She was staring at her own picture and chewing on her fingernail.

“Caesar talks too much.” Peeta complained. Everyone agreed.

A golden eleven finally appeared and they all breathed a little easier.

“On par with Finnick Odair!” Effie exclaimed, standing up with excitement. “ _Excellent_! Excellent job, Katniss, I _knew_ you could do it!”

The morning fight was forgotten when Katniss surrendered to their escort’s suffocating hug.

Effie met his eyes over the top of the girl’s head and Haymitch smirked.

Those scores wouldn’t mean any miracles…

But they were a step in the right direction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo they didn't do so bad, yeah? How did you like the new stylist? I won't lie it's a character I have had in mind forever for Effie's background and hardly ever had any opportunity to write. He appeared once in a one shot about her relationship with her sister but it was a short one. Anyway... Next week is the day off. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know your thoughts!


	23. Short Of A Fireplace

“What are you doing?”

Haymitch froze, the curse still on his lips, and rubbed the back of his nape. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain that one. Half her beauty products had fallen off her dressing table and to the floor while he was struggling with the plug.

“Go back to sleep, it ain’t ready yet.” he grumbled.

They had gone to bed late the previous night. The stylist had stayed for dinner and Haymitch had to admit the man wasn’t bad company. Full of himself, yeah, but he didn’t look down on them and that was a nice change. Haymitch had always appreciated people who could use their brains and Harwyn clearly was one of those. He was no match for Cinna but it was the best they could have gotten.

After he had left though, Effie had insisted on gathering everyone in the living-room. She had told the children the next day would be free and that they should use it to relax. Peeta had protested a little but she had convinced him easily enough – her or Katniss’ pleading look. Unfortunately, it had also meant she wanted to go over a few things before the interviews just in case.

Haymitch had dozed off halfway through the endless list of recommendations she gave the girl. As for him… She just begged him not to be his usual snarky self. _Sarcastic enough to make the audience laugh but not harsh enough to_ _antagonize_ was the thin line he would have to walk on.

It had been late by the time they had retired to her room and they had fallen asleep almost immediately. He suspected Effie had taken a pill while he wasn’t looking because she hadn’t stirred all night, not even when he had woken up short of breath, trying to grasp enemies who weren’t there. She had been lucky to remain still enough to not make herself a target to his unconscious mind.

“Not ready?” she repeated, confused and slightly out of it – which confirmed his sleeping pills theory. He _finally_ managed to plug the appliance in just as he heard her feeling around the nightstand for the clock. “Oh my! Is it really nine thirty? I did _not_ mean to sleep that long.”

“Needed it.” he dismissed, checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything.

She slipped out of bed and wrapped her arms around his waist, plastering her chest to his back and pressing a good morning kiss on his shoulder.

“What happened to my bottles?” she frowned when she caught sight of the mess. “And why, in Panem, would you bring _a toaster_ in my room?” A toaster that really didn’t want to work, he thought to himself. She reached around him for the plate full of bread and her frown deepened. “You have _no_ idea how bringing breakfast in bed is supposed to work, do you?”

He rolled his eyes and detached her arms from his waist so she would stand next to him.

“Ain’t breakfast, sweetheart.” he mumbled, keeping his eyes on the appliance. “We’re short of a fireplace. Had to improvise.”

“A fireplace?” She sounded completely flabbergasted. “Haymitch, you are not making any…”

“We’re _toasting_ bread.” he cut her off firmly. “ _Together_.”

It took her a second to catch up. “Oh.” She flushed. _“Oh_.”

“Yeah. _Oh_.” he mocked, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “I mean… We can _just_ toast bread if you like that better, I guess. Thought it was something you…”

“Yes.” she interrupted him and, when he finally found the courage to meet her eyes, they were shiny and she was hastily blinking that away. “I… I would like that _very much_.” She looked down at herself and tugged on the short blue nightgown so she could inspect it. “Should I change? Should _we_ change?”

She was eyeing his sweatpants and his lack of proper shirt critically.

“Let’s not make a fuss, yeah?” he winced. He wasn’t about to get dressed up for a hasty toasting made with a toaster instead of a fireplace. All the more so given that their time was precious and he didn’t intend to waste any second of it. “We toast. We _fuck_. We never talk about it again.”

Her excitement dimmed a little. She made the iris shaped ring turn around her finger, lowering her eyes. “You do not have to do this to please me or…”

“I want to.” he said before he could think twice about it. He was going to die. What was there to lose? It was awkward. It was exactly why he preferred avoiding that sort of effusions. He held out his hand, palm up. “If you want to.”

She placed her hand in his and smiled. It was bright and genuine. It made her look younger. He found himself smiling back in answer.

“How does it work?” she asked, studying the plate full of bread and the toaster with some interest.

_Not like this_ , he almost answered. It wasn’t supposed to be a cheap thing on a dressing table. It was supposed to be meaningful and symbolic.

Lighting a fire, sharing a meal cooked on that fire… A warm home where no one would ever go hungry, that was what it was supposed to bring to a marriage. More accurately, the hearth represented the home and the bread was supposed to be for love. 

He wondered what it meant that their hearth would be an old toaster he had stolen from the kitchen and their bread some stuff that came straight from a plastic wrapping.

He placed the bread in the appliance and guided her hand to push on the button on the side.

“We light the fire together.” he said, after clearing his throat.

He felt ridiculous. This was the most ridiculous thing he had ever done.

It figured it would be because of her, _for_ her. So she could have something… _more_ to keep with her after he was gone. So she would forever know and not doubt what she had meant to him. It would probably have been better for her to forget and move on but he knew Effie. She might pretend everything was fine and that she was happy but… It would take more than that for her to stop clinging to his memory.

She would eventually.

She loved life too much.

She would find someone else, he believed that with every fiber of his being, he just hoped it would be someone worthy. And he tried not to be jealous of that man who wasn’t in the picture yet. He tried. But he failed.

Effie giggled when the bread popped back up properly toast. “And now?”

“Now…” he hesitated, grabbing one of the toasted slices and wincing because it burned his fingers. He blew on it and brought it close to her lips. “Bite.”

“Not something you say often when you put things in my mouth.” she grinned.

“Sassy.” he accused. The spark that was dancing in her eyes almost made him forget about the whole thing. But then she bit down on the toast with appropriate seriousness. He caught the wayward crumbs on her lips and leaned in to kiss her. That wasn’t really part of the ceremony but she wouldn’t know any better and they were taking liberties as it was. “Now you feed me.”

She took the remaining toast and imitated him by bringing it closer to his lips, one hand cupped underneath so no crumbs could fall on the carpet. He bit down with gusto, more hungry than he had realized. She raised on tiptoes once she had swallowed to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“Are we married now?” she whispered.

“Almost there.” he snorted. “Now, I’m supposed to say _wife._ And you’re supposed to answer…”

“Husband.” she supplied, grinning so hard it must have hurt – or powered the entire Center for a year. “And now? Are we married?”

“There’s the small matter of the consummation.” he smirked.

She giggled. “Oh, no… What a _dreadful_ prospect!”

“Right?” he chuckled, running his hand over the silky fabric of her nightgown, shamelessly groping her.

“Should I play the frightened virgin for you?” she hummed.

He scooped her up bridal style in a swift move, making her scream in surprise.

“I like the minx act better.” he shrugged, forcing her to tighten her grip around his neck.

He tossed her on the bed and kicked off his sweatpants. She was still laughing when he kneeled between her legs and ran his palms on her inner thighs, pushing the fabric of her nightgown _up_. She arched her back to help him take it off and there she was, glorious in her nakedness.

“You’re gorgeous.” he said because as confident and vain as she was she never really believed it. He planted a kiss on her stomach, up her ribcage... He nuzzled her breasts and captured a nipple in his mouth…

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with her.

_Everything_.

He wanted everything but he knew he needed to choose because they would never cram _everything_ in a single day. 

He sucked on her pulse point, nipped at the vulnerable skin…

He cupped her breast, took a moment to enjoy the feeling of her hard nipple against his palm…

“Haymitch…” she breathed out.

He looked up into her blue eyes and he felt his mouth go dry. Her gaze was clouded with lust, she was pouting, frustrated by his inability to decide and actually _do_ something, and… She was hot. She was hot and perfect and _his_ for the rest of his short life.

She was _his_.

He hooked his elbow under her knee and forced her leg up.

She blindly reached behind her, braced herself for what was coming, and it only spurred him on.

The first thrust was brutal and she mewled in a mix of pleasure and pain. She licked her lips and wrapped her other leg around his thigh, urging him on.

It was almost a punishing pace.

Rough and violent that she started whimpering and moaning as soon as he had begun.

After a few minutes, she was incoherent and he pulled out of her, letting her confusedly feel around for his body.

“Haymitch.” she begged. “I need… I need…”

He rolled her on her stomach and she simply lifted her ass in the air in the oldest invitation in the world.

He didn’t resist it.

She came with a cry after a few thrusts and collapsed against the mattress, making him slip out of her. She was boneless and limp under him but she parted her legs without protest when he rested his weight on her back. The angle wasn’t awesome, not deep enough, and she wouldn’t come again but it was enough friction to do the trick for him.

He licked the sweat off her shoulder blade only to suck the skin in and to _bite_ _down_. She wasn’t in any shape to protest so he had his fun leaving enough hickeys and marks that she wouldn’t be able to wear a bare back dress in a while.

He was so busy staking his claim that his climax took him by surprised.

He reached his release with a groan and remained slumped on her, his head propped on her nape. Her hair was tickling his face but he didn’t mind.

This, right there, was _bliss_.

Her hair in his face, the smell of her shampoo, the taste of her sweat in his mouth, her warmth surrounding him, _clenching_ him still, the unmistakable fragrance of sex in the air…

He never wanted to move again.

He wanted time to stop.

Right there.

Right then.

He wanted time to stop.

He felt around until he found her left hand on the pillow and he entwined their fingers. The ring dug into his palm. An unexpected comfort.

He must have been crushing her but she didn’t protest his weight or nudge him off her. She seemed content to _be_ crushed, truth be told, to feel his weight on her, the sensation of his stubble rasping against her skin with every breath he took…

He honestly thought they could have remained like that for most of the day if her stomach hadn’t grumbled. She shifted a little and he slid to the side with a soft regretful sigh.

“Don’t go.” she requested in a hurry, immediately snatching an arm around his chest and huddling close to him.

“Not going anywhere.” he mumbled against her hair, wrapping himself around her like an octopus. Legs tangled together, tight embrace… “You’re hungry?”

“It can wait.” she dismissed.

After the third time her stomach made noises, he chuckled and tugged on her arm to escape the bed. She whined in protest but he pressed a long messy kiss against her mouth. “I’ll be back.”

He could do some things right, he decided, as he strolled to the kitchen wearing sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He came back with a tray loaded with entirely too much stuff for the two of them. He hated wasting food but he figured there were days when he could indulge. 

She had been dozing off but she perked up when he nudged the door closed behind him with his foot.

“Now, _that_ is what breakfast in bed should look like.” she praised.

She jumped on the muffins as soon as he had carefully set the tray in the middle of the bed. He was content to sip his coffee and watch her as she swallowed up half the plate of toasts with a generous amount of strawberry jam. Sex first thing in the morning always made her famished. It was one of her quirks and he loved it. He wasn’t sure why precisely because it was inconsequential but he loved it all the same. Just like he loved the way she automatically extended an arm in front of him before crossing a street because he had a reckless tendency to walk straight into traffic without checking for cars. Just like he loved the way she drummed her nails against her thigh when she was deep in thought.

“Do not stare at people when they eat, Haymitch.” she rebuked. “It is _rude_.”

“You’re hot.” he replied, nonplussed.

She blinked but took it in stride.

Trouble arose when she insisted on him eating something. She tried to force feed him a muffin but he really wasn’t hungry and it ended up with the tray being pushed aside and him having something _quite different_ for breakfast.

He tried to chase the thought that it might be the last time he ate her out of his mind but it remained there, like a background chatter. He made it last just to enjoy it a little bit more. He brought her on the verge of orgasm only to delay it a while longer…

They stayed in bed the whole day, like they sometimes used to do after Twelve had lost the Games and they wanted to pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

They cuddled.

They touched.

They kissed.

They had sex.

Haymitch was in that state of boneless hollowness that only came with a thorough _fuck_.

Her lips ran on each of the scars on his back, mouthing the three words he never allowed her to say aloud against the battered skin. When she was done she rubbed his sore muscles, sometimes coupling the massage with licks, kisses and bites…

He let her ride his face.

They had never done that before, the lack of control on his part… It made him panic at first but she was enjoying it so much that he soon got into it. He still liked it a lot better once she slid down his body. That round was lazy. She remained slumped on his chest as their hips slowly did all the work.

They were too exhausted to be wild.

It was slow but almost frantic at the same time. _Desperate_ perhaps. As if they were determined to take everything they could even if their bodies died in the process.

He wasn’t sure they had ever done it so often in one day. He wasn’t sure where he was finding the stamina either. Maybe knowing it was his last opportunity for a real sex feast was doing miracle for his virility.

“We should have dinner with the children.” she hummed, around seven.

“You really think you can _sit_ through a three courses dinner?” he snorted. He hadn’t exactly been oblivious to all the wincing and the wriggling she had been doing for the past half hour. She was sore, he figured, and he understood. He was a bit sore too.

“I am _starving_!” she complained. “And we can get some whipped cream and chocolate for dessert. If you are a good boy, I will let you eat it on me…”

“Food kink is your thing.” he retorted, wrapping his arms around the pillow and burying his face in it.

“Then I will eat it on you.” she grinned, swinging her legs off the bed.

“Where are you going?” he grumbled, sneaking an arm around her waist to hold her back. “Dinner’s not for a half hour.”

“I need a shower.” she sighed.

“No.” he sulked, tightening his hold.

“Haymitch, I reek of sex.” she frowned. “I need…”

“You reek of _me_.” he cut her off, nuzzling the small of her back only to bite down on it. Her back was a mess of reddish marks of teeth and the occasional scratch. There were some bruises shaped like his fingers on her hips too. He probably shouldn’t have been as proud of his handiwork as he was. He bumped his nose against the new mark. “ _Mine_.”

It was a primitive growl and he felt her shiver. Not of fear or cold. She was aroused.

“How about I let you play with me in the shower?” she purred. “Would that be a suitable concession?”

His tired brain mulled that over and he scoffed. “That’s just a trick to get me to wash up.”

“I never claimed there weren’t additional benefits.” she chuckled. Her nails were up and down his forearm and it made it hard for him to think. He was tired. He felt good. _Sated_. “Come on, darling.” she coaxed, leaning down to pepper his jaw with kisses. “There will be no time to properly share a meal tomorrow… I want to enjoy this last one with the children.”

He let out a long deep breath to let her know she was being annoying – mainly because she was right. “Fine.”

He rolled out of bed with some difficulty.

The shower, all things considered, wasn’t such a bad idea. They fooled around but they didn’t actually do anything. Later on, maybe, they would be recovered enough to enjoy each other’s company but right then, he didn’t think he could have gotten it up if his life had depended on it. Warm water on their sweaty skin was bliss though.

He didn’t see the point of getting dressed when it would only be the four of them so he ignored her arguments and pleas and stuck to his sweatpants and a shirt. He lied on the bed and dozed off while she got ready, pampering herself with far too much make-up for the occasion.

Having dinner with the kids was nice, though. They seemed happy. They were a bit evasive on what they had done with their afternoon. Katniss kept toying with her hair and avoiding everyone’s eyes. Peeta’s cheeks were a bit flushed and, if he did meet Haymitch’s eyes, he soon averted them.

Haymitch smirked but didn’t tease them about it.

They tacitly kept to light topics. Nobody ever mentioned the Games, the interviews or the arena.

It was… relaxing.

They joked, they teased each other, they laughed…

They lingered at the dinner table long after dessert had come and gone – although he _did_ notice Effie making a murmured request to the Avox girl so he figured there _would_ be whipped cream, chocolate and strawberries waiting in her bedroom.

It was late enough when Effie made a show of being tired and going to bed early. Haymitch didn’t bother, the kids weren’t interested in whatever their mentor and their escort were going to do anyway, they were too busy making eyes at each other.

Katniss disappeared in the living-room and Haymitch caught Peeta’s arm before he could follow.

“You need… _stuff_ , boy?” he asked, trying to be tactful.

The kid’s ears burned crimson.

“No, I’m good.” Peeta mumbled, staring at his shoes.

He patted his shoulder with a  snort and went back to his escort’s bedroom.

Effie was sitting at her dressing table, the toaster had been pushed aside, and she was removing the layers of make-up off her face. She looked up when he stepped in and she grinned, nodding at something behind her.

At the tray loaded with sweet things, he figured. He chuckled a little but flopped down on the bed, happy to let her eat anything she wanted on any part of his body.

“You’re never gonna guess what…” he taunted.

“The children had intercourse.” she deadpanned, applying a generous amount of lotion on her face. She ruffled her hair, checked her reflection in the mirror, and then turned the stool around to study him, looking absolutely too cocky. “Do you think I was born yesterday? Katniss was practically glowing.”

“Thought you would scream your head off.” he admitted, a bit disappointed. He had been looking forward to seeing shock on her face.

“Under normal circumstances, I absolutely _would_.” she granted. “Given how we chose to spend our day however…” She shook her head sadly. “They’ve grown up since we met them, don’t you think? Being with Peeta all week… He has a man’s bearing now. I cannot say Katniss is as mature as I would wish but…”

She let her voice trail off.

“It’s their last day.” he shrugged.

And it wasn’t their place to judge what they did with it.

“Exactly.” she hummed. “Now… Where were we?”

She stood up and unzipped her dress.

What else could he do but watch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a lot of toastings but this one is probably one of my favorites XD Only Haymitch would do that with an old toaster ^^ Also everlark did the do! Maybe Katniss _is_ figuring things out... I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next week, we move on to the interviews :p Let me know your thoughts!


	24. Beautiful Chaos

For the hundredth time that day, Haymitch wished the prep team had been fired along with Madam Felindra.

Katniss’ prep team was new too but she had declared they weren’t _so_ bad. His? He was ready to tear the hair off his scalp.

Coralus, the one who seemed to be in charge – or who liked to act like he was, at least – didn’t seem to be able to _shut up_. The man kept a running commentary during the entire very long and very boring prepping session.

Haymitch had forgotten how annoying getting ready for the interviews was.

As a mentor, he had been expected to show a certain level of… _prepping_ but nothing to that extent.

His stubble had been trimmed into something that looked natural but that was far more precise than anything he could have managed by himself. They had cut his hair just enough that it was still long but that it wouldn’t be a bother in the arena. They rubbed lotion after lotion on his face. They had pampered him with deodorant and cologne. They had filed his nails.

He was ready to scream by the time Harwyn showed up, followed by a woman in her thirties – at least Haymitch thought she was, it was always difficult to tell with Capitols – who was carrying two zipped up garment bags.

Haymitch was only wearing underwear – new ones who wouldn’t show under whatever the stylist had planned for him because they were made of a new fabric and _whatever_ , he hadn’t listened to the entire speech Coralus had given him – and the woman’s gaze darted down before coming back up again but she didn’t say anything. She hung one of the bags on the open door of the wardrobe.

“Thank you, Maya.” the old stylist said, a little impatiently. He was leaning hard on the walking stick that, Haymitch noticed, was sporting a golden gemstone on top today. He briefly wondered if he had identical sticks with different gemstones or if it was removable – the things one wondered about after hours of being prepped… “Give Effie her dress and return to the girl, will you?”

He hadn’t been aware Effie was getting a dress too.

Harwyn shot the prep team a hard look and they immediately made themselves scarce, all the while watching him with big incredulous eyes, as if they couldn’t believe the old man was really _there_. As soon as the three annoying Capitols had left, Haymitch breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I trust you can get dressed without their help?” the stylist mocked without heat. “A few models cannot manage, mind you, but you seem to have a brain in that head of yours.”

“I think I can deal.” he snorted. “How’s Katniss doing? Thought you’d be her main stylist.”

He had fully expected to deal with the assistant Harwyn had mentioned.

“I thought she would be more comfortable with Maya.” the Capitol offered, carefully unzipping the garment bag. “Young women who are not used to it are often sheepish that way. Despite the fact that I always enjoyed this sort of view better.”

He hesitated a little but decided that it was a mostly innocent gibe and, so, he let it drop.

The walking stick, it quickly turned out, wasn’t as decorative as Haymitch had first believed. The man rested his weight on it as he struggled to brush the bag off the suit but when Haymitch offered to help, he was treated to a glare. He was reminded of Mags, who always hated it when anyone tried to do something for her, so he stepped back with both hands lifted in an apologizing gesture.

The suit was… Well, _perfect_ was maybe too strong a word. But compared to what he had been forced to wear over the years… It was good. Very good.

It was a three pieces suit. Classic and sober enough. The waistcoat was embroidered with discrete golden spirals that, on a closer look, were shaped like flames. It wouldn’t show on TV, he figured, but the gold would catch the light here and there. There were no buttons on the black jacket, it was probably meant to be worn open. The pants would be tight, tighter than anything he was used to, but he knew the game here. They were trying to sell him. And, right now, the Capitol was very sold on his body so…

“Katniss’ dress is red and gold.” Harwyn told him as he inspected the suit. “I tried to keep _the girl on fire_ idea in mind without making it too similar. We do not want to bore the audience, do we?” The stylist chuckled at his own joke. “She seemed to like the dress, in any case.”

“That’s…” he hesitated. “… really better than I expected.”

“It is particularly good, isn’t it?” the Capitol hummed, brushing his hand against the jacket. “I cannot take all the credit. Effie designed most of it. I corrected a few things, added a little personal touch… But it is based on her sketches. She insisted she knew what you would like. I did not dispute that.”

There was unmistakable fondness in the man’s voice and Haymitch tried to sound casual as he pulled on the _far too tight_ pants. He had to jump a little up and down to get them past his thighs.

“You like her.” he observed. “Effie.”

“Like her?” Harwyn frowned. “I _love_ her. She is right, you know, she was always my favorite… Ruthless that one… But with a heart of gold. A walking paradox. And such beauty…”

He zipped the pants up and tried to catch his reflection on the full length mirror on the wardrobe door. He made a face when he realized just how _tightly_ they hugged his skin. No wonder the prep team had been going on and on about underwear that wouldn’t show. He tried to shift everything a little but it was all squashed down there and there was nothing to do about that.

The shirt and the waistcoat were more comfortable, more like the kind of stuff he favored when he was in the city – Effie’s doing, he was sure.

“She’s gonna need a friend.” he said flatly, buttoning the waistcoat up and not meeting the old man’s eyes. “After.”

In the letter he had passed to her, he had asked Alina to keep an eye on the kids.

He had nobody to leave Effie to.

Harwyn brushed imaginary lint off his shoulders. An answer to his not quite question might have come if the bedroom’s door hadn’t opened right then.

Effie looked…

He had seen her in a lot of outfits along the years but that one… His jaw might have dropped a little.

It looked like she was wearing liquid gold. The dress was see-through in places but not indecent at all, it shimmered under the lights, _rippled_ almost… It was long, the neckline was plunging, kept in place at the waist by a belt of pure solid gold. All the light fragile looking fabric gathered around her shoulders to fall behind her in a translucent golden train. It pooled around her feet…

She was blinding.

_Radiant._

A small sun in his bedroom.

The only contrast with the gold on her dress and her wig were the pure diamonds she was wearing around her neck and wrists and on her ears. The iris was almost hidden by a particularly huge ring and he wondered if it was on purpose.

Her make-up was hard. Her eyes were particularly dark, heavy looking butterflies with small gemstones for wings fleeing from her fake eyelashes every time she batted her eyelids. The eyeshadow was black as coal. Whatever she had done to her face, her features were sharp. The lipstick a crimson red so deep it almost looked black.

He had always thought fashion was her own personal brand of battle armor but right then… Right then she looked ready to _slay_.

She looked like a pissed off goddess.

He hastily turned his gaze away because the pants were tight and the sight was turning him on.

“Mr Harwyn, you really should not have!” she exclaimed with a bright smile, her eyes twinkling in obvious pleasure. Her tone was in total contrast with her wrathful looks.

“Nonsense.” the stylist dismissed, abandoning Haymitch to fuss over her outfit. He righted the sleeve, adjusted the diamond necklace around her neck, not so gently nudged her chin higher… “You look as stunning as ever, child. Do you like it?”

“Do I…” she scoffed, twirling once like a little girl. “Sir, it is a _masterpiece_! And I saw Katniss’ dress… I _cannot_ thank you enough. Truly you went beyond anything I could have hoped and…”

She hastily blinked her emotion away and leaned in to press a kiss on the old man’s cheek. It seemed to take the stylist aback but he hastily patted her hand and made an escape, clearly uncomfortable with such displays.

As soon as he was gone, Effie’s attention snapped to him and she purred. “Aren’t you dashing…”

“Took you long enough to notice.” he snorted, a smirk on his lips. “No tie?”

He said it almost hopefully because he _hated_ being constricted by ties but she always insisted on forcing one around his neck and on trapping him in it with some flourishing knots he could never undo by himself – or without a pair of scissors.

“Ties do not go hand in hand with a bad boy attitude.” she hummed, inspecting him with attention. She seemed to like what she was seeing because she flashed him a bright smile. “Perfect.”

“Hope so ‘cause I got a manicure.” he grumbled, showing his poor abused hand.

She laughed but didn’t sympathize.

Her hand rested on his chest under the feeble excuse of chasing imaginary creases away. Her fingers clenched a little on the fabric. Her nails were painted gold too, with gemstones and white spirals here and there.

Her breathing was regular but a touch too loud, as if she was making a big effort to remain collected. He wondered how much of her make-up was from the prep team she had no doubt snatched from somewhere like always on interviews day and how much was from her.

He didn’t try to kiss her. She wouldn’t welcome it. Or maybe she would and then accuse him of ruining her whole look and making them all late.

There would be time for kissing later.

He covered her hand with his but she didn’t look up to meet his eyes. It was only when she swallowed with obvious difficulties that he understood what she was doing. _Feeling his heartbeat._

“In another life…” she whispered eventually. “In another life, we… We would have been happy, Haymitch. _So happy_ everyone would have been jealous of us. I would have driven you mad and you would have made me crazy. Nobody would have understood how we could work. But we would have. We _would_ have. It would have been a perfect mess. A beautiful chaos.”

“Beautiful chaos.” he repeated, snorting gently. “Sounds like you.”

She smiled but it was hollow. “We should go. We do not want to be late for the big, big, _big_ event!”

“Would be a shame for you to miss the red carpet.” he teased. “You’re gonna put them all to shame.”

She perked up a little at that.

They met everyone in the hall. Clearly, the stylist had stuck to the _gold_ _team_ theme.

Katniss’ dress was very different from anything Cinna would have done but it suited her all the same. It wasn’t too extravagant. It was a dark red, it hugged her chest and pooled down to the floor in the same fashion Effie’s dress did. There was a large golden belt that ran around her stomach and spiraled up to hug the side of her breasts and follow the lines of her collarbone. The gold seemed solid and it made it look like an oddly shaped armor. She looked strong. Determined.

Peeta’s suit was more classic but gold embroideries on the lapels of the jacket marked him as a member of the team too.

Even the stylists were marked as such. Harwyn had the golden gemstone on his walking stick and the other woman, Maya, was wearing gold jewelry and shoes.

“Let’s do this!” Effie declared cheerfully, pushing the elevator button.

The cheerfulness was over the top and it became franticness once they had all crammed together in the elevator. She let out a flow of unnecessary advices and recommendations that made it almost a relief when he and Katniss escaped to join the other victors.

“Remember.” she begged them as Peeta unsuccessfully tried to drag her to where the escorts and mentors were supposed to play nice for the cameras. “Eyes bright. Chins up. Smiles on.”

He had heard that tune often enough over the years but he nodded all the same if only to appease her. He grabbed her arms to make her stop fussing over the girl’s dress and stared straight at her. He didn’t quite _say_ it out loud but she got the message, nodded once and then followed Peeta.

_Keep it together_ , he hadn’t said. Just a little bit longer, he thought. Just a little bit longer and it would all be over and she would be free to collapse. 

Tributes traditionally waited in the huge room backstage until they were called on stage but this was a Quell and the setting would be different. They would all sit in the background while Caesar conducted his interviews. It meant more than an hour offered to the audience’s eyes and Haymitch wasn’t exactly thrilled about that.

“I can’t wait for this part to be over.” Katniss sighed.

The good-natured friendship was already fading and nobody was really mixing. District partners stayed close to each other and covertly studied everyone else, looking for a weakness or… _something_.

It gave him a good idea of how it would be like in the arena.

“Can’t say I’m impatient for the next one to start.” he muttered.

Katniss wrinkled her nose a little but didn’t object.

For a while, it was chaos. Staff members lined them up in correct order and gave them precise instructions as to what to do and where to sit. They were reminded to smile and wave but _begged_ not to take the wrong seat.

There were more instructions too. How to behave for the cameras, how to act… More than one victor grumbled and Haymitch himself rolled his eyes. They knew what to do on a TV set. They had been doing it for decades for some of them.

Still, the staff member in charge wouldn’t relent. He talked and talked and _talked_ …

Haymitch was at the rear and he thought it would be a long night.

It was almost half an hour before the show started. They couldn’t really hear anything, mostly an echo of what Caesar was saying and the audience’s reaction. There were small screens everywhere backstage though and Haymitch stared at one of them, having watched enough interviews to know what was being said.

The host would greet the audience with a few jokes, warm them up… Then remind them what Games it was, as if they could forget… He would encourage sponsors to get in contact with District teams as soon as the cannon would mark the launch the next day… He would encourage everyone to bet on their favorite…

Caesar’s voice faintly reached their ears when he joyfully asked the audience to welcome their tributes but it was the staff member with a headset who started whispering a frantic _“Go, go, go.”._

Cashmere strolled on stage like she owned the place under thunderous applause, followed by everyone else.

Woof took the wrong seat and it derailed everything to the staff member’s dismay and annoyance but Caesar laughed it off and actually showed the old man to his proper chair and everything went back on track.

The interviews felt endless.

Sitting there, listening to Katniss’ increasing sighs and to whatever the others were babbling about…

It was plain to see Caesar had received instructions from other District teams to orient the conversations on certain subjects that would paint the tributes in a good light. Some of them, like Cashmere and Johanna, didn’t even try to hide just how annoyed they were by the Quell but they were a minority and nobody dared openly call it into question. The great majority had understood antagonizing the Gamemakers wouldn’t be a smart plan and they were playing nice.

It was emotional though.

The audience was on the edge of their seat.

Usually, Capitols grew bored long before they reached Eight but, that year, they awaited the next tribute eagerly. They couldn’t get enough of the melodrama.

Woof was painful to watch. The man was so obviously batty, lost and distressed that murmurs rose in the audience. Caesar did his best, he _truly_ did. He was kind and often answered the very question he had asked because the old man was in no state to do it. Victors started shuffling in their seats when Woof’s eyes started shining with panicked tears.

Haymitch’s jaw clenched.

Woof Casino was senile.

And that made him dead meat.

And it was _sad_.

Alegra Misc, from Nine, made an ill-thought attempt at questioning how the Capitol could send a once revered victor into an arena when he was so obviously not in possession of his mental faculties. She was young and angry and it was very noble but it would probably mean her death warrant.

Her fellow tribute was tamer. Ten’s victors were boring.

Seeder was… unhopeful.

Chaff’s funny act and his easy banter with the host would be tough to follow. Haymitch worried for a moment but he was wrong to.

When Katniss joined Caesar center stage, the clapping and cheering was so loud and lasted so long half her time was gone before she could even get a word in. She was concise but efficient. She swore she would try to win to be reunited with Peeta – and she sounded _sincere_ for once. She looked fierce. No longer the young girl in love they had spent months carefully crafting but a _woman_ robbed from her lover. She looked powerful. The victor this Quell deserved. Caesar commiserated on her lack of luck, she admitted she would have liked the opportunity to marry Peeta but she was thankful for the time they had shared… The audience was in tears…

Nobody really cared about what _he_ had to say. Not after one half of the star-crossed lovers had just broken their hearts.

Still, he got a few laughs and a decent enough amount of clapping amongst the sniffing and calls for Katniss’ name.

They all stood  up when Panem’s anthem rang.

Katniss’ hand slid into his but they were the only ones holding hands.

He looked around and came to a conclusion.

The truce was over.

It was war, now.

* * *

_Quick AN: here is the dress's reference I used for Katniss:  
_

__

_And here is Effie's:_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic drumroll... I hope you're ready for next week because I promise very emotional goodbyes ;) What did you think of this chapter? I added the dresses references on this chapter's post on tumblr if you want to check it out.
> 
> I made the choice of not including Katniss' wedding dress for two reasons aside from the obvious one that we're moving away from canon 1) any wedding dress would have burned with Cinna 2) to me, it's very obvious it's not snow who insisted on her wearing the wedding dress, it reeks a rebel move because stressing the unfairness of the star cross lovers not getting married gets snow nothing but troubles when it gives the rebels everything they want plus the Mockingjy dress, I think it's a Plutarch + Cinna decision.
> 
> Anyway. Harwyn didn't do such a bad job right? As for the interviews themselves... We're far away from CF :p No united victors, no one openly questioning the games... And it's war... What did you think? Let me know!


	25. Make Sure It's Buried With Me

Haymitch had never been good at goodbyes.

How many times had he stood in that corridor, sending tributes to bed knowing he would never see them again? It was odd to be back on the other side of the line.

He hugged the boy, smirking when Peeta shot back his words from the previous year… _Stay alive_ … But he didn’t linger. He clapped the girl’s shoulder, told her he would see her the next day, and he just… slipped away while Effie hugged Katniss so tight he thought she would never let go.

His room was just like he had left it earlier.

He gathered the meager belongings he had brought with him, stuff that could fit in his pockets really, and gave a last look around. It looked less messy than usual. Probably because he hadn’t spent a single night in there.

It was odd how familiar the room looked. He had never thought about it before, never spared a thought for the four walls that sheltered him during his stays in the Capitol but now… How odd was it that it felt exactly like the house in Twelve? Not quite a home, _never_ a home, but… _Comforting_ in its familiarity. It had been his place for twenty-five years. He wasn’t one to get attached to walls and objects but he still couldn’t help a pang of… regret.

He waited until there was no more noise to sneak into Effie’s room.

She was sitting at her dressing table, staring at her reflection, her diamond necklace forgotten in her hand.

Her carefully painted face had melted with the tears she had shed.

He sat on the edge of the bed and, for a second, he stared into space too. It was one thing to know it was coming, it was another to reach the finish line.

He let it sink. 

He let the weight of that knowledge settle on his shoulders.

Eventually, she picked up some cotton ball and a bottle and started erasing the Capitol war paint from her skin. She slowly appeared under the mask. Pale skin, rosy lips, bright blue eyes…

“We have to talk about…” he heard himself say and then stopped because he couldn’t quite get the words out. _We have to talk about what happens when I’m a corpse_ didn’t quite sound right. “I’ve got favors to ask.”

Her movements faltered but she didn’t stop. Her hands kept moving, darting around her face, removing earrings, unpinning the golden wig… Preserving some semblance of normalcy, of routine.

“That’s yours.” He started with that because it was the easy one.

He leaned in to place a silver flask on the table near her elbow. She had gifted it to him, years back, it had been her grandfather’s and he didn’t want it to get lost or tossed away. She had made a big deal of it not having any meaning but he had known better even at the time, had been reluctant to accept it full point – particularly given the _T_ branded on the side.

She didn’t acknowledge it, barely pushed it further down the table where it was hidden behind bottles of perfumes.

The wig was placed on the plastic mannequin head she kept in her room and she moved on to unpinning her hair. It was braided close to her skull, he realized. A Katniss braid. Another quiet rebellion he wished she would give up.

He placed his old knife on the table next, blade pointing away from her. The handle of that knife was in a pitiful shape, damaged by years of clutching it in his sweaty palm at night. He had won the first Quell with that knife, had pulled a tantrum until they had accepted to give it back to him when he had woken up in the clinic… It was Chaff who had convinced them. It had been the only thing that had made him feel safe for many years.

“Once she’s out… Give it to Katniss.” he requested. “She’ll get the message.”

Her fingers brushed against the familiar knife almost warily. He had almost accidentally stabbed her a couple of times with it during the first years, when she hadn’t yet learned how to deal with his night terrors properly, when she had still been a stupid little Capitol drone who couldn’t phantom the sort of pain he was constantly in.

“What’s the message?” she whispered.

He almost didn’t explain. Katniss would get it so there was no need to spell it.

He surrendered to the sorrowful eyes that were watching him in the mirror.

“Fight. Survive.” he shrugged. “Find a way.”

She blinked hastily and gave him a shaky nod.

The knife disappeared in the drawer of her dressing table, lost in a sea of hair ties, pins and various hair accessories.

“What else?” Her voice was purposefully detached. She ruffled her braided hair until it was loose on her shoulders, a crumpled mane of curls that made his stomach clench with _want_.

The picture wasn’t easy to let go of. It was the difficult part. The one that made his fingers shake.

He placed it where the knife had been.

“Make sure it’s buried with me.” he demanded.

Her golden nails caressed the faces on the yellowed paper that had never really been glossy. It had been an extravagance, that picture. A birthday gift for their mother. So worth it though. He would have forgotten her face by now, like he had forgotten Mabel’s. He would have forgotten how crooked Hayden’s smile was.

“Of course.” she answered finally.

She wouldn’t attend the actual burial, of course. They never did. They saw to it that the bodies were released and the coffins sent back but that was the extent of their involvement. Mentors remained in the city until a victor was crowned. By the time he went back to Twelve, tributes were usually long in the ground.

She would have no trouble getting something in the coffin though.

He had gone every time at first. In the first few years after his victory. He had felt he needed to, to pay his respect or… _whatever_. He had stood there and had watched as they had placed the bodies in the coffins, he had made sure everything was done right since the families couldn’t… He had stopped quickly enough. It was too painful. It was too much… _involvement_.

She could do it herself if she so wished or pay off one of the staff members. Or ask the boy. Either way, he had no doubt she would respect his wishes.

“If you can get in touch with Undersee somehow…” he hesitated. “I’d like to be with my family. Not in the victors patch. Nobody’s gonna come and check and I don’t need the glory in death kind of thing.”

She placed the picture in her jewelry box and picked up her hair brush. Her hand was shaking but she ran it in her curls all the same.

“I will do my best.” she promised in a voice that sounded too cheerful.

She was trying to keep her mask on, she was clinging to the escort persona because…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “Maybe it’s easier if I go back to my room, yeah? ‘Cause…”

The hairbrush bounced back on the wall and landed on the carpet with a disappointing lack of noise.

“You are mine.” she declared. “For the rest of your life you are mine, _that_ was the point of putting crumbs all over my room, wasn’t it? I won’t be robbed of a night just because it would be _easier_. It _won’t_ be easier. _Nothing_ about this is _easy_.”

Anger faded just as quickly as it had flared.

Her shoulders slouched and she swallowed hard, pushing the stool back to stand up. He looked up at her, remaining silent because he didn’t know what to say.

There were too many words to utter and not enough at the same time.

Too many things to say.

Too many things to confess.

They stared at each other for a long time and then she turned away, struggling with the fastenings of her dress. Her fingers were trembling, she was upset and she tugged too hard. She cursed when the fragile fabric tore.

Not that she would ever be wearing that dress again, he figured. It was, after all, his funerals.

He watched as she squirmed her way out of the golden fabric, his eyes caressing the naked lines of her spine.

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

It took him a few seconds to realize it was him who had spoken.

She froze.

She turned around eventually, the golden dress crumpled in her fist, completely naked. He watched her, committed every part of her body to memory and it wasn’t even… It wasn’t even lust or desire. It was…

“You are not losing me.” she objected, dropping the dress on a heap on the floor. “I am.”

“I know.” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.”

Because the pain he felt at _the thought_ of losing her…

He shook his head and stood up, shedding his jacket. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

It would be his last one. There would be no time the next morning.

“Do you want company?” she hesitated.

“Don’t I always?” he smirked.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way she put his shirt aside when she helped him undress. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact she had regularly been snatching shirts, undershirts and tee-shirts away from him since the beginning of Training and that they were now stashed in her pink suitcase. He didn’t comment on it though.

If his smelly shirts could comfort her once he was gone, he wasn’t going to deny her.

There was no real funny business in the shower. He chose the plainest setting and they mostly hugged under the streaming water. Hands wandered but only to touch not to start anything. They clung to each other, skin flushed against skin, her lips mouthing the same relentless words against his neck again and again, as if they were about to be torn away from each other.

When she finally turned the water off, he kissed her.

For a brief moment, he was reminded of the last night of the Tour.

It wasn’t their usual brand of despair. It wasn’t the familiar urge to _take_.

It was…

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek, pushed her wet hair over her shoulder…

When his hands rested under her ass and she hopped and locked her legs around his waist, he didn’t pin her to the shower’s wall like he usually would have. He carried her to her bed.

They never stopped kissing.

Not when he almost tripped on her discarded shoe and not when he tugged on the bed covers so he could lie her down on silky sheets.

Not when they clumsily adjusted so she could rest with her head on the pillow, with him heavy between her legs.

Not when they started touching each other.

He couldn’t stop kissing her.

At that moment, she was oxygen.

He needed her to survive.

He stroke her slowly, without displaying any of the dirty tricks he had developed with her along the years. It was pure touch. Basic. He just wanted to _feel_.

She seemed to be of a similar mind.

There was no real finesse to the way her hand was slowly running up and down his dick, not enough pressure to make it a sweet torture.

When he was sure she was ready, he caught her hand and entwined their fingers. They ended on the pillow near her head. He drew back to look in her eyes when he entered her and she arched her neck, struggling not to close her eyelids in pleasure, to keep staring at him.

The next second, they were kissing again.

His thrusts were slow, almost lazy. He let pleasure build by itself.

They had spent the previous day and a good part of the night _fucking_ to the point he had thought he had exhausted his allotted number of hard-ons for the rest of his life. This wasn’t about sex.

This was… _more_.

They were one.

At that moment, they were one.

And it was…

_Everything_.

He wanted it to last forever. He wanted to live in that moment: buried in her, her tongue in his mouth, safe in her warmth.

Their climax was shattering.

It destroyed the illusion of peace.

Eternity gone in a flash of a bliss.

They settled on their side, facing each other, her left leg trapped between his, ankles hooked, hands entwined between them, foreheads pressed together… They breathed each other’s breath, doze off only to wake up and kiss the other with a sudden terror that it would be the last time…

His rest was fretful and not just because she was clinging to his hand with despair. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand table, over her shoulder, from time to time, and the red numbers made him feel sicker and sicker.

It would ring half an hour before the stylists would show up to take the tributes away. He would have time to go back to his own room, to get dressed, to… _prepare_. If anything like _that_ was possible.

The clock didn’t stop.

It never stopped.

The closer it got to the time it was supposed to ring, the more frantic his kisses became.

Effie was trying so hard not to cry.

He was trying so hard to look strong.

“I love you.” he whispered, two minutes before it was set to ring. His own personal brand of farewell, except he would be the one dying this time around. He had been thinking the words for a long time now but they had always remained stuck in his throat, heavy in their simplicity.

She rushed hers out, almost relieved to finally be allowed to say it out loud instead of mouthing it against his skin. She almost choked on them. “I love you. I love you _so_ _much_ …”

Her kiss was hard, demanding, and it only turned soft when the beeping of the clock echoed in the room. His face crumpled in the middle of it but he kept on kissing her, desperate to have one last second, one last…

It took a long time to talk himself into letting her go.

He briefly cupped her cheek but left her bed before he could falter, before it became impossible to do so, before he forced Peacekeepers to drag him out of her arms…

She sat up, her lips wobbling until she bit hard on her bottom one, hard enough to draw blood probably.

He searched for meaningful last words and realized they had already shared them. Anything they would say after that would feel… _less_.

He took a deep breath and turned away, walked out of the room.

The moment the door shut behind him he heard her burst in painful sobs.

He wasn’t surprised that their last kiss had the salty taste of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo how much do you hate me? What do you think of Haymitch's requests? Did you like their last night together? Did you think he would say those words as a goodbye? It was a really emotional chapter to write! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> (for those of you who read April Showers, I won't be updating Sunday because I won't be there but I will be updating on Monday instead so we don't miss a week so keep an eye out for it ;) )


	26. From Memory Alone

Haymitch forced himself to go on, down the corridor, to his own room. It wouldn’t help to go back in Effie’s bedroom, to hold himself. No word would comfort her. Dragging out the goodbyes would be more painful than it needed to be. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, almost punched and kicked the wall…

_Katniss_ , he reminded himself, _save Katniss_. _For the boy. For Effie. For all the kids you’ve failed over the years. For a chance at a_ shitty _redemption._

He got dressed slowly, methodically. Comfortable clothes. Something he would have worn in Twelve.

There would be no cameras where he was going.

The knock on the door was faint and he wasn’t surprised to see Harwyn standing there instead of Maya. Katniss had told him she liked the Capitol woman well enough. It had been with a shrug, of course, and the implied statement that she wasn’t Cinna. He hoped the other stylist would be kind with Katniss. She would be nervous. Afraid probably.

He had only been through that whole part once before, almost too long ago for him to remember properly.

Mentors never met the tributes before the launch. His memory was rusty even if he knew what would have to happen. Harwyn’s walking stick was sporting a blue gem that day. The old man didn’t ask how he was doing and didn’t try to offer pointless words of comfort. He led him to the living-room in silence, a somber procession of two men.

His feet faltered in front of Effie’s room. He brushed his hand against the door on his way. A last caress. A last… He didn’t know.

He could hear voices in Katniss’ room, the hurried muffled whispers of goodbyes. They hadn’t taken the girl yet, then. They would get her once _he_ was off. She still had a few minutes with the boy.

He felt jealous.

A few minutes…

A few minutes were precious.

A few minutes meant everything.

The doctor was waiting in the living-room, looking very professional in his white uniform, his small black case at his feet. He greeted Haymitch with a terse smile and a quiet profesional “How do you do?”. They were well acquainted, the two of them. He had ended up in the Games Clinic more times than he could count over the years.

He ignored the question and sat on the couch’s armrest. He wanted that part over. He wanted to leave the penthouse. He wanted…

Suddenly he wanted a lot of things.

A last breath of fresh air on a winter morning in Twelve, when snow had fallen all night long and everything was a pure white as far as the eye could see.

A last night with Chaff, Finnick and the others, laughing and teasing each other until they were ready to roll under the table or be thrown in the drunk tank.

A last kiss, one that didn’t taste of tears, one that tasted like happiness and hope and, maybe, of a better future.

A last walk around the Hob, a last bowl of Sae’s soup, a last chat with Ripper, a last glimpse of the woman who wore Maysilee’s face…

A last chance.

Haymitch focused on the blue gem at the end of the stylist’s walking stick when the doctor warned he was about to inject him with the tracker.

He focused on the blue gem when the shotgun fired the implant. The pain was brief but he hated the thought of being tagged like cattle.

He kept focusing on it when the stylist escorted him to the roof and the waiting hovercraft.

Haymitch sat down but it didn’t take off at once. The engine hummed softly, the whole aircraft shook briefly and he thought he could still make a run for it. He should have before that maybe. He should have grabbed the kids, their family and make a run for it before the whole mess even started. They might have made it in the woods.

He lost himself to that fantasy for a second. He pretended hard they _could_ have made it. He pretended hard they could have found a safe place to settle in. He pretended the Capitol wouldn’t have tracked them and dragged them back kicking and screaming after killing everyone who wasn’t a victor in their group. He pretended it wouldn’t have killed him to leave Effie behind and leave the rest of his life without her.  _He pretended_.

The hovercraft took flight and any possible escape flew away with it. He watched the city disappear through the small round window, barely noticing the food at his disposal on the table in front of him.

He hated the city.

He hated the arena more.

“Did Effie ever tell you how we met?” Harwyn asked casually, as if they weren’t on their way to his worst nightmare.

He almost chewed the guy’s head off for that.

He turned back to the stylist with a snarl but the cutting bitter words remained stuck in his throat. He couldn’t utter a single sound. His hands were clutching the armrests of his seat. His heart was hammering hard in his chest. A bad shiver ran down his spine.

He felt sick.

All he could manage was a jerky shake of his head.

It was better than puking all over the breakfast table.

Harwyn started telling him the story of a seventeen year-old Effie who had accompanied her sister to a huge fashion show with several designer houses, of how she had boldly stepped up when one of his models had twisted her ankle, a short firecracker with an attitude… His voice was calm, his tone casual, and his descriptions precise.

Haymitch relaxed slowly because he could picture it, picture her and her ambition driving her to twist fate’s hand. Halfway through, the stylist pushed a plate in front of him and he started eating. He forced himself. The food tasted like ash on his tongue and settled heavily in his stomach. He forced himself because he would need the strength, he knew that. He drank plenty too. Dehydration was always a danger in any arena.

He felt more grounded by the time the hovercraft landed but, despite all the water he had drunk, his mouth was parched. He was desperate for some whiskey. A fine brand. The best brand. He could almost taste it on his tongue from memory alone.

The tremors were bad that morning and it would do him no favor in less than an hour.

The launch room was too small and he felt confined. He had forgotten about the shower and he declined it. He smelled faintly like Effie and he wanted to keep that, the memory of her skin against his. Or maybe it was in his head. Either way he didn’t feel like showering.

The outfit was waiting for him.

Simple black boxers, sturdy boots, thick heavy pants, a cotton undershirt and a brown jacket branded with a _12_ on the back. It was similar enough to what they had been given during his Games and to what tributes usually wore.

It gave him no indication at all about what they would have to face. He had been expecting something a little less standard. This was a Quell after all.

His fingers were trembling so much he struggled getting dressed but Harwyn didn’t offer to help, something he was grateful for. It was humiliating enough to be visibly shaking like a leaf. It stung his pride.

The old man still adjusted the lapels and checked that everything fell appropriately but it was more a stylist thing than a gesture of pity so he could accept _that_.

They didn’t talk. 

The launching tube was two feet away, threatening in its harmless appearance.

Haymitch couldn’t stop staring at it.

He sat down to wait but Harwyn remained standing, leaning on his walking stick. The stylist looked ill-at-ease and it occurred to Haymitch there was a reason he had never worked for the Games before – or hadn’t, at least, made it a regular thing. He had never before contemplated how jarring it must have been for stylists to literally wait with kids for their own death.

When the mechanical voice told tributes to get in place for the launch, Haymitch licked his lips and stood up slowly.

Harwyn walked next to him. “Do you want me to pass along a message to your escort?”

He shook his head, his right hand closing around the hard gold of the bangle. Everything that had needed saying had been said.

His escort.

_His_ _wife_.

It was the first time he had thought about her like _that_ and it was both painful and strangely… _comforting_ at the same time.

He had done it for her mostly, having long given up on any desire to form a family in the traditional sense of the term. He was a bitter old man with shattered dreams. She wasn’t. Despite everything, she still clung to hope and dreams and positivity. He had wanted to do something for her, show her what she meant to him, what they could have been…

He realized as he placed his hand on the cold plastic that maybe he had done it for himself too.

Maybe he had done it for the simple comfort of knowing she had been all in, his until death did them apart.

He wasn’t sure it really mattered in the face of everything but… It was a nice thought.

She had his ring, he had her bangle and the Capitol could do nothing to change that now. They had, at least,  won that particular battle.

He stepped in the tube and turned to face Harwyn.

“Thanks.” he said because the man had done more than he had to and it was rare enough to find in the city to deserve acknowledgement. “Make sure she’s alright, yeah?”

The stylist nodded.

The plastic door slid shut and he felt the slight vibration of the engine. He closed his eyes when he felt the platform start to move and only opened them once it was steady again.

He was ready for a meadow full of green grass, a beautiful deadly trap of an arena…

All he saw when he finally opened his eyes was his own reflection staring back at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since next week is hayffismas week there won’t be a chapter, so I will see you on the 29th! 
> 
> Also, from this chapter on, it’s the part where I'm mean and I don’t say how many are left so it can end any time. Haha, my meaness knows no bouds. 
> 
> What do you think was that part about Haymitch seeing his reflection at the end? Let me know your thoughts! You know I live for feedback!


	27. Slow And Steady Wins The Race

His own reflection was staring back at him a hundred times over.

There was _nothing else_.

Haymitch was trapped in a circle of mirrors and all he could see was his own face, his own body, distorted in a thousand of weird shapes…

He was so surprised and disoriented he almost stepped back, almost _tripped_ … He steadied himself at the last second, before he could fall off the platform, before…

There was an explosion to his left.

A detonation coupled with the sound of shattered glass. 

Someone had left the platform before Claudius Templesmith could give the signal. Haymitch’s ears were ringing – from the sound of the blast or from fear, he wasn’t quite sure – but he forced himself to focus.

The mirrors ran high to a white ceiling. That was unusual, he could only remember one Game that had taken place indoor. A castle-like arena that hadn’t been that popular.

There was no point trapping tributes in a circle of mirrors. They weren’t just mirrors, he deduced, they were walls, which meant there must have been a Cornucopia somewhere, probably at the center of what he suspected to be a maze.

“ _Ladies and Gentlemen…”_ Templesmith’s booming voice joyfully exclaimed. _“Let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin. And may the odds be_ ever _in your favor!”_

The cannon boomed twice.

Once to launch the Games and once to mark the death of whoever had stepped off the platform too soon. His money was on Woof. Poor guy.

Sympathy wasn’t at the forefront of his mind when he stepped forward, hands outstretched, feeling around for a mirror that wasn’t a mirror. He needed to find Katniss or the Cornucopia before the Careers did. Preferably both.

If the arena was an indoor one, they would need water and food because there would be no hunting. Tributes had starved last time.

The glass was cool under his palms. He fought the feeling of claustrophobia, pushed it at the back of his mind.

There was a way out.

There _had_ to be a way out.

Eventually, his hand found emptiness and he stepped forward. He tried to keep to the left, to where the explosion had come from, hoping he would be able to see more clearly in a field of shattered glass.

It was slow progress and it was frustrating.

He heard other people grunt in annoyance or hitting glass but he couldn’t tell if they were close or far. He caught glimpses of their distorted reflections sometimes. Enobaria, once. Mags too.

Eventually, he stumbled on another empty platform. Or maybe it was _his_ he had circled back to. It was impossible to tell.

Someone screamed in rage somewhere. The sound was followed by broken glass. It was soon echoed in different directions and Haymitch cursed and kicked one of the mirrors to his left himself. It was a method like another, after all.

Shards flew everywhere, nicking his skin, clearly designed to _hurt_ when shattered. And, more dangerous, the piece of mirror attached to the ceiling came down like a guillotine. He avoided it but barely.

_Too dangerous_.

Breaking glass wouldn’t work so he came back to his initial plan and felt around for a path.

_Slow and steady wins the race_.

What an idiotic saying.

After a while, something odd caught his eyes in the mirrors on his left side and he tried to follow that lead until he stumbled out in a sort of… It was like a clearing of shattered glass. A nice circle of broken mirrors. The smell of burned flesh made him gag and he tried not to look at the body parts scattered here and there. He crushed the glass under his boots as he took advantage of the absence of mirrors to wander deeper in the maze.

After five minutes, he saw a flash of gold.

_Cornucopia._

The reflections were misleading but if you remained calm and _thought_ … Ignoring the increasingly frustrated shouts from someone he suspected to be Brutus, Haymitch went on. Every time he lost sight of the gold, he retraced his own steps, searched for another path…

After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes, he found the center of the maze.

The Cornucopia wasn’t as big as usual and it was full of weapons, not food or water bottles – which told him there must be access to that somewhere else in that place.

It wasn’t what caught his eyes though.

A few people had beaten him there and there would probably _be_ a bloodbath after all.

Tilly Johnson, Five’s female victor, lied on her back, open brown eyes staring into the emptiness, in a puddle of blood.

Two people were fighting on the other side of the Cornucopia. There were grunts and the unmistakable sounds of punches being thrown. It wasn’t until he heard Katniss’ sharp cry that he rushed forward though, rounding the golden thing in time to see Beetee dart back into the maze, dragging Wiress by the hand.

They weren’t Katniss’ problem though.

_Finnick_ was.

He saw everything but barely registered any of it as he ran.

The boy had found a trident, his weapon of choice, the one that had made him famous… Finnick had a gash on the forehead and Katniss’ lip was split. Four’s victor was making the trident twirl in front of him in a threatening manner. Three blows were all it took. Her stomach, her knee, and her head. She fell on her back, exposed and defenseless.

Haymitch was too far.

_Too far_.

“I’m sorry.” Finnick said when he lifted his weapon over his head, clearly intending to stab her with it.

Haymitch tackled the boy hard. The trident flew away and clattered on the floor. They struggled for a moment but Haymitch was on top and he was heavier. It wasn’t that hard to pin the kid down…

“Don’t you _fucking_ …” he warned, shaking the boy once. “Just go your own way and we…”

He heard the hissing sound and then Finnick grew limp.

Haymitch stared, shocked, at the arrow jutting out from the boy’s eye.

“Come on.” Katniss said, her tone flat. “Grab something. We need to get out of here.”

But he couldn’t move.

The air smelt of blood and death.

“Haymitch!” she insisted. She grabbed his arm, struggled to haul him to his feet. He kept staring at the body of Four’s victor. “Snap out of it! We don’t have time.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” he said at last. “He…”

“He was going to kill me and he would have killed you.” she cut him off. “You know that. It’s the Hunger Games. _Come_ _on_.”

She was right. He knew she was right. But…

His hands were shaking so much, he could barely hold the knife she thrust his way. She kept looting everything useful she could find, keeping her bow at the ready. The quiver full of arrows hung from her back and he tried not to wince when she got her arrow back from Finnick’s body. She strapped two knives to her ankles and wedged a cutlass in her belt.

The sounds of shattering glass were coming closer and Haymitch _did_ snap out of it then, realizing they only had minutes before a Career broke his way to them.

He grabbed a cutlass too and as many knives as he could carry. Some were light, ideal for tossing, but his fingers closed on a sturdy handle and it was that one he kept in his fist, trying to get as tight a grip on it as he could.

“No water, no food.” Katniss cursed, her eyes darting in the direction of the broken glass. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go.”

There was no other way out but to dive back in the maze.

Katniss’ method was similar to the one he had used. She tried to catch sight of something that could be used as a landmark and pushed her way forward, going back when she lost it. It was a patience game. One that had them both on edge but that was necessary. They walked around in circles. Sounds of fighting floated to them now and then. Every time it got too loud, they switched directions – the louder it got, the nearer they were to the center, they figured.

They moved in silence, sticking close to each other so they wouldn’t lose the other in their ever changing reflections. Eventually, they caught a glimpse of something that looked like a door.

It took them fifteen minutes to find the right path that led to it.

They exchanged a look before Haymitch pushed it open, not quite sure what to expect.

“Well, _shit_.” he spat, once he caught sight of the room the door led to.

“What?” Katniss frowned, peeking over his shoulder. It was a big dining room. Framed paintings on the walls, a huge rectangular mahogany table in the middle with expensive chairs all around, big windows with heavy blue curtains, dressers full of delicate plates in the corner, sculptures and luxurious potted plants. There were two doors at the other side of the room. “Where _the_ _fuck_ are we?”

“The Presidential Mansion.” he offered without a single hesitation.

“ _What_?” she asked again.

“Replica, I guess.” he frowned. He looked back at the maze thoughtfully. “Makes this the library.”

It made sense. It was big enough to welcome a maze. Well… The ballroom was too, he supposed, but the ballroom was on the ground floor and that would have been _too_ _easy_. 

“You know the layout?” she enquired, taking that in stride.

“Pretty much, yeah.” he shrugged. He was about to take a step in the dining room when he froze. He wasn’t sure what had alarmed him until he realized… The floor should have been gleaming floorboards, not… cobblestones. And the way some of them were jutting out a little… “Anything looks odd to you?”

She crouched to take a closer look and then made a face. “Mines?”

“The flat ones or the others?” There was no way to tell.

Katniss was more interested in the windows. “The arena can’t _just_ be the mansion. It’s too small. There must be a way out. Something else outside.”

“Food and water.” he nodded.

“If it fails we can try the kitchens.” she suggested.

He snorted. He didn’t relax but he took a deep breath and considered the problem at hand. Someone would show up sooner or later. The maze was close range, Katniss’ bow wouldn’t be of much use and it would fall on him to protect them.

He really wanted to avoid that.

“We could try to find another room.” she sighed. “There must be several entrances to the library if it’s that huge.”

“Wanna bet the whole place’s booby-trapped?” he countered, shaking his head. “Okay. Let’s be smart.” He unstrapped one of his knives and took the time to calculate before tossing it on one of the stones that was jutting out. The explosion was small and localized, weak enough not to trigger a chain reaction but strong enough to take off a foot or a leg. “Better keep to the flat ones.”

Assuming the Gamemakers were playing fair and the mines weren’t randomly scattered around…

“Where do those doors lead to?” she asked, stepping around him to go first.

“If we’re aiming for the gardens, we want the left one.” he said, pointing it out. “Gives out on a corridor.”

“And then?” she insisted, jumping from one flat stone to the next.

It was a lot more difficult for him. He didn’t have her stealth and he was heavier. The stones were narrow.

“Then we go right until we find the stairs. One floor down, two doors on the left, through the other dining room to the patio.” he explained.

“How do you know this place so well?” she frowned. “The tour Effie gave us was short.”

“Yeah, well… I’ve been here _a lot_.” he retorted. He almost lost his balance and grabbed the huge table to steady himself. “Library’s a good place to hide. Or to bring a lady if you want some alone time with her.”

Katniss shot him a disgusted look that he answered with a wink.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine Effie huffing and stomping her foot in annoyance in front of her screen. Or was she still in the launch room? How much time had passed since the first cannon had boomed? He chased her away from his mind.

Still, it was lucky they had sneaked out of boring parties so often.

They made it out and into the corridor eventually. _In one piece._

It was too quiet.

Where were Beetee and Wiress? Would they ambush them? Three’s victors’ fighting style were deadly traps and their surroundings were ideal for that. He wasn’t the only victor who knew the Mansion well enough to take advantage of it.

“Be careful.” he told her, even if it wasn’t unnecessary.

Katniss kept her bow ready and he clutched his knife.

He led the way to the stairs without them encountering any trouble. The staircase was polished as always, empty, and far from inviting.

“Too easy.” she commented.

He could only nod.

They went down the stairs carefully, one step at a time, attentive to _everything_.

When a piece of wood gave in under Katniss’ boot, they both ducked at the same time, narrowly avoiding the huge blade that swayed above them. It hung there for a second and then slowly went back in the ceiling in a clogging noise, ready for its next victim.

Haymitch let out a deep long breath.

“See, I’m not sure I didn’t like the classic setting better.” he muttered.

“On the bright side, Brutus is never getting out of here alive.” Katniss mocked.

“Depends if Enobaria finds him.” he objected. “She’s not stupid.”

They kept close to the wall without discussing it, avoiding the purple carpet that wasn’t wide enough for the whole corridor. They preferred to step on the narrow path they could _see_. Who knew what was hiding under the rug.

There was a loud thud upstairs followed by screams of agony. They abruptly stopped and a cannon boomed. It occurred to him, then, that it had been a while since the last one.

“Bloodbath must be over.” he commented. “We need to hurry.”

If there was a trap in the downstairs dining room, they managed to avoid triggering it. They found the door to the gardens and stepped outside…

Only to _freeze_.

“What the…” Katniss swore, letting her sentence trail off.

Haymitch shared the feeling wholeheartedly.

The Mansion was at the center of the arena, that much was clear. But the arena itself…

He had expected gardens, woods… _something._

Instead, what was surrounding them was a clash of landscapes that didn’t match or blend together. It looked like the drawing of a small child, a weird distorted collage. It was as if someone had jammed together portions of different arenas. To the left, there were cotton fields that gave on wheat fields that abruptly ended on flat arid plains with reddish mountains looming in the distance and a few dark shapes that might or might not be cows or bulls or something like that…

They walked around the Mansion in silence, taking in their surroundings. The plains morphed into orchards that abruptly morphed into more familiar woods and mountain-like ground with dark openings that seemed to give into undergrounds caves. Or _mines_.

Haymitch shook his head when his brain finally caught up.

The next portion looked like a ant hill with holes leading down. He was ready to bet those caves were full of gems and diamonds. It gave on stone quarries where dust seemed to perpetually float in the air. The next part… He had no idea what it was. A factory? A lab? A huge round building with a glass ceiling that definitely belonged in District Three. Then a beach. Water as far as the eye could see, waves crashing on the shore… Then a dam that made the junction between the salty water and an abandoned railway full of rails, dust and shipping crates. More woods, towering trees that shot toward the sky, and they were back to the cotton fields.

“It’s huge.” Katniss commented eventually, eyes wide. “Have you ever seen an arena that huge?”

“It’s Panem.” he said in case she really hadn’t figured it out. “The arena’s Panem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you like my arena? :p All bets are off as Finnick found out. Were you expecting that? Let me know your thoughts!


	28. Safe Ground

Haymitch knew they needed to move and fast but his feet were rooted to the spot.

The Mansion containing the Cornucopia for the Capitol – _center of the country_. Gemstones mines for One – _luxuries._ Stone quarries for Two – _masonry_. The observatory for Three – _technology_. The beach for Four – _fishing_. The dam for Five – _power_. The railway for Six – _transportation_. Woods for Seven – _lumber_. Cotton fields for Eight – _textile._ Wheat fields for Nine – _Grain_. Plains full of various animals for Ten – _livestock._ Orchards for Eleven – _agriculture._ And, finally, the coal mines for Twelve – _mining._

A piece of each District cut and transformed into a victor’s hell.

It was… far more symbolical than he liked. Turning the country into an arena… He got the message loud and clear. No rebellion would work. They were trapped. The Capitol was in charge, playing with them like the Gamemakers.

“Not really subtle, yeah?” a familiar voice chuckled behind them.

He whirled around, barely managing to push Katniss’ bow to the side before she took her shot. It sent her arrow flying into the woods. She didn’t look happy about it but, at least, Chaff didn’t end up dead.

His friend was armed but purposefully kept his hand away from the pointy weapon at his belt. 

“You made it.” Haymitch commented, relieved despite himself. It would have been easier in the long run if Chaff had died in the bloodbath. It would have lessened the chance of him being forced to choose between his best friend and Katniss. Not that there was a choice to make. Not that Chaff would hesitate if it came down to that. And it was fair. His face hardened. “Finnick’s dead.”

The memory was enough to make him swallow hard but he kept his voice steady. A warning and a plea for Chaff to understand all rolled into one. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been the one wielding the killing blow or that he had let himself doubt back then. He wouldn’t doubt again. Katniss was his first priority now.

He tried not to think about it more deeply, not to remember all those years of friendship because…

“Seeder too. Enobaria got her.” Chaff told him, keeping his eyes on Katniss. She had an arrow ready and she would let it loose at the smallest sign his intentions were hostile. “Keep your cool, girl. I ain’t gonna kill you.”

“Like you could.” she snorted.

An amused smirk ghosted on Eleven’s victor’s lips for a second but he turned his gaze to Haymitch. “You be careful now, buddy. And let’s try to stay away from each other, okay?”

He nodded his agreement but stepped forward, ignoring Katniss’ hissed warning. They hadn’t had an opportunity for goodbyes yet, not really, and he didn’t want them to part on a half-threat half-warning. He outstretched his hand, not quite surprised when Chaff pulled him into a bear hug.

He clapped his friend’s shoulder and turned back to Katniss when the other victor started heading out to the other side of the Mansion. Toward the orchards, Haymitch supposed. 

For a moment, he thought the girl would shoot Eleven’s victor in the back. She considered it, he saw it plainly. One enemy less. Clean and simple.

Would he have stopped her?

He wasn’t sure.

A quick death was often rare in an arena.

However, it seemed shooting someone in the back was more than she could bear. She made a face and shouldered her bow. “We need to take cover. We should go to Twelve.”

“No, we shouldn’t.” he denied. “That’s the first place they’re gonna hunt for us.”

And he had no doubt they _would_ hunt for them. He knew Careers like the back of his hand. They would go after the big fish first, while they were still hunting in pack. And with Finnick out, Katniss was the next big threat.

“We need water, shelter and food.” she argued. “I can find that in our woods.”

“ _We_ can find that in Seven’s woods just as well.” he insisted.

She clearly didn’t like it but she ended up giving in. He relaxed slightly once they were deep in the cover of trees and safe from the Mansion’s windows. He let her take the lead, trusting her hunter’s instincts to find them somewhere to camp.

The arena _was_ huge. Soon they had left the Mansion behind and they couldn’t see anything but pine trees, uneven dry earth that sometimes caved in unexpected ditches and boulders covered with moss. He looked up more than once, trying to get a sense of direction from the sun but the trees were so high they could barely see more than patches of blue. It was chilly in the shadows of the trees and he figured temperatures would drop even more come nightfall.

“He killed the woman from Five.” she said after almost an hour of walking in silence. “He would have killed us too.” Finnick, he mused. She was talking about Finnick. Her voice was hard. _Detached_. Not quite defensive but almost there. “There are no friends in the arena, Haymitch. You told me that. We have each other, _that’s it_. We can’t take chances.”

“I know.” he sighed.

He could have told her he had known the boy since he was fourteen, that he had watched him grown into a fine young man, that Finnick had a girl in Four he was mad for, a girl who needed him… He could have told her so many things. He could have told her that, while he rationally knew the outside world didn’t matter anymore, it wasn’t that easy to dismiss. But it wouldn’t have helped so he kept his tongue. 

She shot him a doubtful glance but dropped the subject. “Why did they pick Panem?”

“Why do you think?” he retorted.

Apparently the rhetorical question was answer enough.

Suddenly she let an arrow loose and came back with a dead squirrel. At least, they wouldn’t have to worry about dinner.

It wasn’t long before she found animal tracks that led to a small stream. They drank their full and sat down to rest for a while, considering what to do next. 

“How cold is it gonna get?” she hesitated. “We could camp here, light a fire, but…”

But it would attract attention.

Most of the victors would probably gravitate toward their own District. It was natural. Instinct pushed you toward safe ground.

And they weren’t in any real position of power. If the Careers pack attacked them… They couldn’t hold against four or five of them depending on what kind of alliance they had struck.

“Don’t think we should stay too close to the stream.” he countered. If anyone wandered in Seven’s portion, they would look for water first. “Tell you what… Let’s walk ‘till nightfall. Once we know what kind of competition we have, we’ll see.” Katniss dropped her hand in the stream to bring it to her mouth, clearly frustrated when the water trickled through his fingers, and he snorted. “Yeah, wouldn’t say no to a canteen.”

“Maybe Peeta will send one.” she shrugged, drinking some more before standing up and offering him a hand.

He let her pull him to his feet with a groan. “Effie won’t let him. We’ve got a water source, we don’t need a canteen. No sense wasting money.”

Hopefully, she knew better.

They walked in silence, attentive to everything from the chirping of birds to the rustling of bushes.  His feet were starting to hurt when Katniss hit the invisible wall and was pushed back. She swayed on her feet with a hiss and rubbed her bleeding nose, tossing a dark look at the force field.

The illusion was perfect. To the untrained eye, the woods were going on and on. He placed a hand on the force field first, felt the invisible resistance, and then shook his head.

“Lucky you weren’t running straight at it.” he mocked, batting her hands away from her face to poke at her nose. “Not broken. Could have been worse.”

“Yeah? Well, you can walk into the next one.” she grumbled.

They headed right, following the arena’s boundary until the trees started to clear and they could see cotton fields in the distance. The sky was darkening… They settled down.

They lit a low fire, one that wouldn’t make too much smoke and would do nothing to keep them warm. They cooked the squirrel but with such a meager flame, it was a slow process and the meat was rawer than he would have liked when Katniss declared it was done. He knew that, after a while, raw meat would seem sweet to him. It was like that when you were starving, everything edible was good, cooked or not.

Panem anthem rang out and they both wandered closer to the cotton field to have a clearer view. They crouched low to hide behind the white flowers, staying out of sight.

The first face to appear was Finnick’s.

“One and Two are still alive.” Katniss muttered with irritation, as if it was a great inconvenience to her. And, truth be told, it was. He had been hoping they hadn’t managed to get out of the Mansion in one piece – although nothing said they had even walked out.

Leo Jammer and Tilly Johnson came next. Five was out for good, then. Theo Latimer from Six. Woof and Cecilia from Eight. Alegra Misc from Nine. Rach Elmont and Lia Flench from Ten. Seeder from Eleven.

The anthem rang again and the sky became dark once more.

They waited until they were back to their small camp to discuss it.

“Mason is out there.” Katniss said, peering around her as if Johanna was going to jump out of the darkness with an axe. “Blight too. They could be close.”

“Yeah.” he agreed. He doubted they would hunt at night though. The first day was always difficult and with so many of their friends dead. “We take turn keeping watch. Tomorrow we move.”

“Where?” she asked.

He thought it over for a moment and then shrugged. “We could try the railway. Plenty of places to hide.”

“The woman from Six is still alive.” she reminded him. “What’s her name? Elis?”

“She’s a junky.” he dismissed. “She’s gonna be in withdrawal before dawn. Not much of a threat.”

Katniss mulled it over and then nodded. “Alright. Maybe we can find something to use as a canteen. If we stock on water and do a few supply runs in the woods… It could work.” She remained silent a moment, toying with a trig. “The Careers and Mason are the most dangerous. Agreed?”

He hesitated. “Don’t discount Three.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re old. Volt and Nuts. That’s how Mason called them.”

“Old and twice as clever.” he cautioned. “ _Fucking_ brilliant even. I’ve got no idea what’s in that building in Three’s section. Could be to their advantage.”

“Maybe we should check it out.” she suggested.

“I’d rather keep out of Beetee’s way.” he frowned. “I’m not kidding, sweetheart. The guy’s brilliant.”

She broke the twig in three equal pieces, lost in thoughts. “He won by setting traps.”

“Assuming she’s not freaking out… Wiress’s got a sound brain too.” he added. “We don’t have strength in number here.”

“What about the others?” she insisted. “Mags’ not that much of a threat but what about the guy from Nine? He kept to himself in Training.”

He shook his head. “Don’t know him well. Wouldn’t underestimate anyone though.”

“Yeah.” she sighed. “We should get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

Trying to sleep in the arena was pointless.

Haymitch knew they needed the rest but trying to shut down his brain…

As long as they had been moving, he had been alright.

Now though…

He had barely managed to doze off when Katniss’ hand fell hard on his shoulder and gave him a rough shake. “Haymitch, wake up. Something’s wrong.”

He sat up, confused for a moment because everything seemed…

And then he heard it.

The unnatural silence.

No bird. No animal. None of the nocturnal noises in the woods.

A looming threat.

“Grab your weapon.” he whispered, just as the first tendril of fog started rising from the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of the arrangement with Chaff? Was sticking to 7 the clever plan? Is trying 6 ? Are you ready for what comes next? :p


	29. Loud And Clear

For a moment, they stood there, mist slowly but steadily rising around them, clutching their weapons in their hands, scanning their surroundings with rapt attention.

He could feel it, like a prickle at the back of his nape, his instinctive answer to danger.

The fog was too thick and had fallen down too quickly to be natural and he was scared, for a moment, that _it_ was the weapon. But they breathed it in and it didn’t do anything except wrap them in a thin veil that soon hid everything from view.

Before five minutes had passed, he could barely guess at Katniss’ shape and she was standing less than a foot from him.

“We need to move.” she said.

He agreed wholeheartedly.

Two steps in the direction of the cotton field and he caught a flash of _something_ in the corner of his eyes. He whirled around, a tossing knife ready in his hand but whatever it had been… It was gone.

“We have company.” he warned Katniss.

“Mutt?” she hissed.

“Likely.” he nodded.

They kept on walking toward Eight’s section. Their progress was slow. The ground was uneven and it wasn’t exactly the right moment to trip on a root and fall flat on their ass.

He wasn’t happy when they left the cover of the trees to realize the field was just as covered by the fog as the woods were.

Katniss turned around abruptly and let an arrow loose. There was a pained whine in the distance. An animal. More likely a mutt.

“You got it?” he muttered, keeping his eyes wide open. The cotton field offered too many opportunities for anything to hide and he was trying to think what would be better: head for the wheat field where the situation would be more or less the same or try the Mansion where the Careers had likely made camp?

“Don’t think so.” the girl cursed.

There was a scream of pain to their right. Definitely human.

“ _Shit_.” Haymitch spat, just as growls echoed around them.

The first dark shape darted from the right. It leaped over the line of cotton flowers and pierced the mist in an impressive figure of lean muscles and feline power.

Katniss’ arrow went straight through its side and it collapsed on the ground, not dead but incapacitated. Haymitch barely had time to push the girl before the second one attacked from the left.

It missed. 

Narrowly.

They started running, the mutt hot on their heels.

Haymitch felt the trap closing on them. Whatever sort of supercat the thing was, it should have been able to catch up. It wasn’t really chasing them, it was _herding_ them toward…

The rest of the pack.

They came to an abrupt halt when they spotted two more giant cats feasting upon a still moving tribute. Haymitch saw the flash of white hair and connected the dots but it didn’t really register because there was more urgent matters. He tossed a knife just as Katniss let loose some arrows.

His blade skidded on the snout of one of them.

Katniss’ three arrows dug deep in the flank of the other one.

Hers went down, his looked very pissed.

He switched to the hunting knife, dropping to the ground and _rolling_ when he felt the shift behind him. The cat that had been chasing them had pounced and it was a mistake. Katniss’ arrow got him in the soft underbelly, right in the heart.

The third one growled and Katniss shot once more, leaving herself vulnerable to attacks at her back… The cat she had wounded earlier limped straight at her, ready to jump, an arrow still protuberating from its shoulder.

Haymitch didn’t let himself think when he threw himself at it, straddling its back to stab it blindly in the neck as many times as he could, putting all his strength behind his strikes and tightening the grip he had with his thighs so as not to get unhorsed. It was lucky the thing had been wounded. It went down easily.

He remained crouched over the dead cat for a while after that, panting hard and listening for any more threat. Katniss had a similar stance, arrow notched and ready to fly.

Eventually, the fog disappeared and he stood up.

When he remembered Mags, he hurried to her side, dropping to his knees next to the old woman. She was still breathing but at what cost? The damages the mutt had caused were too severe. And…

Fragile fingers touched his cheek and he automatically leaned in the caress.

Did she know who had killed Finnick? Would she have looked at him with such tenderness if she had?

Katniss crouched next to him, her eyes studying the wounds… _Assessing_.

“Help.” Mags rasped out, making a clear effort to be understood.

He covered the hand on his cheek with his trembling fingers and closed his eyes.

The lump in his throat was threatening to make him choke but he swallowed it down. For her, if nothing else.

He loved Mags. He loved Mags like a second mother. She was the only one whose scolding and disapproval he truly feared. She was the only one he truly listened to when she gave unwelcomed advices. She was…

She was one of the mentors who had taken care of him after his victory. She had been there to help and support him. She had been there to…

“We can try to patch her up.” Katniss offered hesitantly. “But we can’t keep her with us, Haymitch. We agreed we…”

“It’s not that kind of help she wants.” he cut her off slowly.

They didn’t have any medical supplies anyway. And given how bad the wounds looked, it would take an army of sponsors to do something about it.

Mags was in pain.

And he didn’t think she wanted to try and survive this. Not without the boy. She had volunteered to spare Annie and try to get Finnick to the finish line. She had wanted to save her kids just like he wanted to save his own, and she had failed.

There was no trying to survive that.

The state she was in… It would be a long and painful agony.

Mercy.

That was what she was requesting.

_Mercy_.

“What then?” Katniss frowned. The moment she asked the question, she figured out the answer. “Oh.” she winced. She placed a tentative hand on his arm. “I can…”

“No.” he denied. “Give me a minute.”

She nodded, gave Four’s victor a last regretful glance and then walked a few steps away, bow in hand in case they needed cover. She busied herself gathering her arrows and cutting pieces of meat from the cats to give them privacy.

He took a deep breath and adjusted his grip on his knife, gently squeezing the hand that was still cupping his cheek. Her breathing was labored but her eyes were calm, accepting.

“Forgive me.” he whispered.

She made a noise of rebuke, as if he was being stupid. It almost made him chuckle. Almost. Comforting people was always her first priority, even when she was hurting. She looked out for her own, she had told him that once. It had long been asserted Haymitch was one of hers too.

This was a nightmare. _A nightmare_. For a second, he feverishly hoped he would wake up in his bedroom, clammy from sweat and shaking from the night terror. For a second, he surrendered to denial. For a second. But he didn’t wake up. There was no waking up. Not from this.

He leaned in until their foreheads touched, until he felt her close her eyes and relax as much as the pain would allow…

It was quick.

The side of the neck, at the right angle.

One breath she was there, the next she was gone.

Painless.

Or so they claimed.

The cannon boomed.

He remained there for a long time. Until he felt Katniss’ hand on his shoulder.

They needed to move. They were sitting ducks.

And the Capitol would want the body.

He stood up, numb and yet still reeling from the adrenaline rush from earlier.

He wasn’t sure where they were headed when they started walking but, soon, cotton left room to wheat. He rubbed his eyes a few times but he didn’t let himself shed a single tear. His jaw remained clenched and he focused on his breathing. In and out. Nice and slow. Regular. 

He wouldn’t give the Capitol the show they wanted.

He wouldn’t betray any sign of weakness for them to replay at will for years to come.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Katniss asked eventually, sounding tactful for once.

“No.” he spat.

“Good.” she commented, shooting him a warning look when she pushed some cereal _thing_ aside to make a path for herself.

They needed to stay focused. He knew that.

They reached Ten’s arid plains just as the sun was rising.

They didn’t find water but they found shelter in the form of a high natural pile of boulders. Haymitch didn’t really like it because it enclosed them on three sides but it offered them shade and it was better than risking walking on in plain sight.

Temperatures got high and their little corner became hot. However they were still protected by the boulders, so they didn’t move. Not even when they heard a big explosion in the distance and saw a cloud of dust rising high in the sky, followed by the sound of three cannons. It seemed to come from the other side of the arena. From Three maybe.

He and Katniss exchanged a look.

“It’s going fast.” she remarked. “How many left?”

He had automatically made the math as soon as the cannons had boomed. “Ten.”

And it wasn’t even noon yet.

It wasn’t long before they grew hungry, the squirrel from the previous day not quite enough to sate them both for days. She offered to go try to hunt one of the bulls that seemed to be munching on the rare patches of grass but those things looked deadly and he declined. No sense getting themselves gored when they still had pieces of mutts. They didn’t want risking a fire and the mutt meat Katniss had gathered the previous night had an unnatural color that almost dissuade them to eat it. Still, by early afternoon, they were starving, they were thirsty, and it was too tempting to pass.

Even if it had gone a little bad.

They were trying to share it in equal portions with his cutlass when the silver parachute fell from the sky right on top of Haymitch’s head. As if to berate him for being stupid.

There wasn’t much.

A bottle of water and a loaf of bread.

He got the message loud and clear though.

He wrinkled his nose. “Guess the meat isn’t a good idea.”

“It does look greenish.” Katniss agreed, snatching the loaf of bread from the silver fabric.

That was the thing when you spent too long in the Capitol, you forgot what it was to starve.

They were both used to not eating much but their time as victors had softened them on that account. They didn’t go to bed hungry anymore. And, while they would never forget how painful it was to work on an empty stomach for days, they felt hunger as if it was the first time when it struck again.

They shared the bottle of water and the bread.

Haymitch tried to estimate how much it had cost Effie and Peeta as he munched on the tender bread. It was a warning more than a luxury since they were nowhere near starving to death and Effie wouldn’t have been so stupid as to waste their money. It probably meant the mutt would have poisoned them. It also meant they had enough sponsors to afford a bottle of water and some bread.

They were the less expensive items on the list.

Given Katniss’ popularity, they could have afforded more.

Effie was keeping the budget tight, then. Good. She was playing it clever, not letting her emotions cloud her judgment.

She had to.

Peeta was more than likely eager to spend the money they already had right away, like all new mentors always were, always in a frenzy over the first emergency without realizing there would be more serious ones later on.

They took two mouthfuls of water each and decided to save the rest.

“He could have added some chocolate.” Katniss mumbled once she had eaten her share. She looked up at the sky with a pout. “You _know_ I love chocolate.”

_Well played_ , he thought. That would send a few sponsors running to Effie.

Another cannon boomed later in the afternoon just as Haymitch was starting to drift off. 

“Down to nine.” he muttered.

Katniss was right. This Quell would be quick.

“Any guess?” she hummed. She had been napping too, her hand on her bow.

He shrugged.

It could have been anyone, really.

If he had learned anything during all those years, it was that nothing ever happened the way they expected them to.

He also knew they couldn’t remain where they were forever.

“We should head to Eleven at nightfall.” he suggested.

The orchards would give them some place to hide and they could stock up on fruits. If they didn’t find more water, the juice should help keep them hydrated. Hell, he might even try to make some moonshine. If he lived long enough. Those Games _were_ going quickly.

“Then, we go through to Twelve.” Katniss declared. “I can find us somewhere to hide in the woods. Or we can use the mines. If the Careers come, we’ll be on familiar ground.”

“Alright.” he accepted. The rate people were dying, they would have to fight the next day. Either other victors would come for them or the Gamemakers would lure them out. “Not the mines though. Probably full of mutts.”

That was what he would have done, anyway.

A tempting cave to hide in… There _must_ be something deadly inside.

Another parachute fell down in front of them and he almost cursed because they didn’t _need_ anything and the falling silver fabrics would end up attracting someone’s attention.

Katniss fumbled with the parachute and smiled when she caught sight of the chocolate bar.

“Thanks, Peeta.” she grinned, looking up once more.

If the girl understood the hint, she didn’t let on.

“Twelve it is, then.” he sighed, accepting the piece of chocolate Katniss handed him. “Got you loud and clear, sweetheart.”

She frowned a little, clearly confused, but Haymitch dismissed that with a wave of his hand.

He wasn’t talking to her.

He wondered how long Effie had been withholding the chocolate to use as a nod in the right direction. He wondered how much profit she had made on that chocolate request too. He was sure more than one sponsor had offered to cover the chocolate cost and that she hadn’t seen fit to inform everyone about that fact, cashing up on as many pledges as she could instead, letting them all think they would help the boy make his girlfriend happy. He bet Peeta was very good at that game too.

He could perfectly imagine Effie instructing him to go all puppy eyes to get some chocolate for his fiancée.

It made him smirk.

More than anything, he imagined _Effie_.

Her perfume, her laugh, her touch…

When Katniss offered to keep watch so he could get some shut-eye before dusk, he didn’t fight it. He wasn’t sure he really slept, he didn’t think he could have in that place, not even if he had wanted to, but he _did_ dream.

Of her.

Only of her.

And when it was his turn to stand guard so Katniss could get some rest, he spent the whole time turning the golden bangle around his wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't hate me too much :p How useless was Haymitch with those mutts? Was I too mean with Mags? Did you like her end? What did you think of the sponsor shipments? Are Effie and Haymitch good at communicating through parachutes? Are they right to aim for Twelve? Let me know your thoughts!


	30. The Mockingjay

When Panem’s anthem rang out, they were getting ready to leave their hiding place. They both automatically looked up, curious as to who the four deaths of the day were.

He hadn’t been expecting to see Gloss’ face first thing. And certainly not followed by Brutus and Wiress. He looked away when Mags’ face appeared and frowned when it was followed by Blight’s.

“The explosion must have come from Three.” Katniss surmised. She wrapped the bottle of water in the silver fabric and tied the bundle to her belt, testing out taking her bow and notching an arrow a few times to make sure it wouldn’t hinder her movements. “You said they liked traps. Whatever happened…”

“She probably took out Gloss and Brutus with her.” he agreed. “With any luck, Cashmere and Enobaria are out chasing Beetee to get revenge.”

He didn’t believe it was the whole story. Beetee would never have abandoned Wiress. There must have been more to it.

However, he couldn’t afford to care. 

If the Careers were after Three’s victor, it was good news for them.

As for Blight, anything could have happened to him.

“Let’s go.” he grumbled. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

He wasn’t sure where it came from but suddenly his skin was crawling. He remained hyper-aware of their surroundings as they hiked through the plains in the direction of Eleven and he couldn’t tell if it was because they were walking in open sight or because of something else. The temperature was dropping low and he was fighting shivers before long.

They paused long enough to swallow some water and zip up their jackets as much as they could and then they went on, giving the bulls a wide berth. If those things attacked, they wouldn’t have a fighting chance.

The feeling of being under threat eased after a while but he didn’t make the mistake of relaxing. Paranoia kept you alive in the arena.

The orchards looked peaceful under the stars. He grabbed a few apples from the first tree they saw and passed them to the girl who stocked them in the makeshift bundle with the bottle of water for later inspection.

The trees were spaced out and they could see all around them. There was _nothing_. Nobody. No mutt. _Nothing._

Then, where was the prickling at the base of his neck coming from?

Katniss seemed to be on edge too and he was grateful they didn’t need to talk to understand each other.

One look was all it took.

One look and they both kept their weapons ready.

A tiny part of him was hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be Chaff. The biggest part was focused on watching his surroundings.

He was looking out for someone or something.

Not for a tree.

“Haymitch!” Katniss screamed.

The warning almost came too late.

He tried to get out of the way but barely managed to lift his arms to protect himself when he understood he _wouldn’t_ succeed.

The falling tree still caught him on the side, making his sight flash white with pain. He had avoided the trunk that would most likely have killed him but not the heavy boughs full of fruits and leaves. It was still enough to knock him out for a second.

At least until he heard the sound of fighting and he made an effort to get out of there, terrified sick for Katniss. He tried to move and pain flared in his side. He didn’t think anything was broken. Cracked ribs maybe. He kicked and growled until he managed to disentangle himself from the leaves and branches.

Something warm and sticky was running down his face. It might have been blood.

He felt around for his knife just as he looked up, to get a sense of what was going on.

His ears were ringing and the world was spinning but he saw it clearly. Katniss pinned on her back, Johanna straddling her, the axe going down… Fast. _Too fast_.

With a primitive roar, he tossed himself on the two girls, his blunt weight enough to make Johanna lose her balance – and her grip on the axe.

They rolled away in the dust, trying to get the upper hand on the other, until they hit the side of a tree. Haymitch was heavier and he landed on top.

“ _The fuck_ you’re doing?!” he shouted. He knew he was being loud. He _knew_. But he could barely hear anything through the rush of blood in his ears. And he was clinging to that deafness. He was clinging to it because he hadn’t heard the cannon. And if he hadn’t heard the cannon… “ _The fuck_ , Jo?! The _fuck_!”

Johanna was cackling.

He couldn’t hear it but he had seen her laugh often enough to perfectly imagine the sound. She had _snapped_. She had gone cuckoo like so many victors did. She wasn’t even really _there_ anymore. There was no spark of recognition in her eyes, just a death warrant. And that laugh that never stopped.

And he wanted her to _shut up_.  

He _just_ wanted her to _shut up_ and _stop_ trying to fight him, _stop_ trying to wrap her hands around his neck, _stop_ trying to press her thumbs in his eyes… 

He needed to check on Katniss and he couldn’t do that while Johanna was trying to kill him…

He just wanted her _to stop_.

His side was killing him, making his thoughts jumbled.

He just wanted it to stop.

He didn’t mean to hit her so hard.

The first punch wasn’t enough to make her keep still so he hit her again.

And again.

And he forgot to stop.

Because he needed to check on Katniss and Jo wasn’t letting him.

Because he needed to check on Katniss and the girl hadn’t stood up yet.

Because he needed to check on Katniss and the axe had gone _down_.

Because he needed to check on Katniss and fat ugly tears were already rolling down his cheeks with each new punch.

Because he needed to check on Katniss and he couldn’t stop screaming in rage at what he knew he would find.

He knew Johanna was dead.

He also knew he had busted his hand.

But as long as he was pummeling her body, as long as he was trying to _stop her_ from hurting his girl, Jo wasn’t _really_ dead yet and he didn’t have to see how Katniss was.

He shouted when he was torn away from Seven’s victor. He struggled but someone was holding him tight and the strong arm around his torso made the pain in his chest flare.

“ _Shut up_.” a familiar voice growled in his ear. “For _fuck’s_ sake, _shut up_.”

He went limp when he recognized Chaff. All fight left him.

His friend let go and he collapsed on the ground, his fingers digging hard in the dirt.

“We need to move.” Eleven’s victor said, not unkindly but seriously enough that he shook his head no. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to… “I risked my skin coming to get you. You’ve been hollering for ten minutes, Haymitch. It’s a miracle the others aren’t here already. Come on. Snap out of it.”

Chaff’s good hand grabbed his upper arm, to haul him up maybe, and Haymitch recoiled, snarling at his friend like an animal.

The other victor quickly stepped back and it was only then that he realized he had pulled out his knife.

_He didn’t want to hurt Chaff_. 

The thought came, unbidden.

He dropped the knife.

He dropped the knife and finally turned to where the tree had fallen.

Katniss was still lying there.

The axe jutting out of her skull.

He wasn’t sure how to qualify the noise that tore from his throat.

He knew she was dead. He knew she had been dead before he had even reached Johanna.

But his brain wouldn’t compute.

He crawled to the girl, ignoring Chaff’s curse.

“Haymitch, we need to move.” his friend insisted.

“Go.” he muttered, just as he reached her.

There was less blood than he would have thought. Her face was broken. Like a china doll that would have fallen on the floor. Shattered in two but recognizable. He brushed the strands of hair that had come loose from her braid away from her cheek. His lips wobbled but, this time, he didn’t try to stop the tears. Make it a spectacle for the ages. Let them watch it on repeat and either cry with him or mock him. _Let them_. Nothing was important anymore.

She was gone.

She was… _gone_.

“Listen to me.” Chaff said, an urgency in his voice. “Even if Cashmere and Enobaria don’t come running… It’s been a while since the cannon. You need to let go now. We need to get out of the way.”

He shook his head again, only making himself more dizzy. He thought he might have hit his head earlier. Something on his forehead hurt. He couldn’t be sure. Everything hurt.

He cradled Katniss’ upper body against his chest, rocking a little as if to soothe her pain. As if she was still there to feel it. As if…

It should have been him.

It should have been him lying there with an axe in his skull.

It was his job. His duty.

“Don’t care.” he replied through clenched teeth.

He couldn’t look away from the dead girl he had sworn to protect.

He couldn’t.

He had failed. 

Again.

He had failed.

The Mockingjay pin on her shoulder caught his eyes and, before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were loosening it from the fabric of her jacket. Just like he had done years ago.

For a moment, he didn’t know whose body he was looking at. Katniss’ or Maysilee’s.

“Haymitch. Buddy.” Chaff pleaded, glancing around nervously. “I’m _so_ not in the mood to deal with mutts.”

“Just kill me.” he mumbled, his hand cradling the back of Katniss’ head. “’T’s okay. Just… End it.”

Chaff rubbed his face with his stump, his features hardening.

Haymitch didn’t even flinch when he saw him pick up a heavy looking bough.

“You _never_ make it easy, yeah?” his friend sighed.

It was the last thing he heard.

Then Chaff struck him with it and everything turned dark.

He had time to think that death wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. 
> 
> No, I'm joking, it's not. But you did have a small heart attack, didn't you? I'm mean, I know. What did you think of this chapter? How much do you hate me? What do you think will happen next? Are Haymitch and Chaff a team now? Can he move past this? Give me your thoughts, my lovelies!


	31. What Do We Always Say?

Death tasted like damp earth and smelled like moss.

Pain exploded in his skull long before he even tried to open his eyelids. He moved his arm and couldn’t help a groan when it jostled his side.

_Not dead_ , was his first conscious thought.

It was quickly followed by memories he would have preferred forgotten.

_Johanna._

_Katniss._

He stopped trying to move when he remembered that last part. Katniss was dead. Katniss was…

“Finally. Was starting to think you were brain damaged or something.”

He forced himself to open his eyes. It was dark, the only light coming from a fire in the center of what was unmistakably a cave with glistening walls. He was lying close enough to the flames to keep warm but not enough to get burned. It was cold anyway though and he could hear the sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance. There were also three dead spiders as big as small dogs piled up in one corner at the edge of the firelight.

A part of him hoped they were dead.

The biggest part didn’t care.

“You missed.” he croaked. His voice sounded rough and weak to his own ears.

Chaff stepped over his prone form to sit on the other side of the fire. His friend looked worse for the wear. He had lost the jacket somewhere – probably on him, Haymitch realized belatedly, because he was lying on some sort of fabric, his head was cushioned on something and he was covered with something else, he didn’t think he had his shirt on anymore, his skin felt exposed to the surrounding humidity. Eleven’s victor’s left sleeve was torn and there were several gashes leading from his elbow down to his stump. There were puncture marks on his neck too. White veins circled out of them like twisted spider webs on his dark skin.

“Yeah, well, what can I say?” Chaff snorted. “I’ve only got the one hand and you’ve got a thick skull.”

Haymitch snorted too but it was bitter and wrong. “Should have left me there.”

His friend ignored that. “I patched you up best as I could. Guess your ribs are cracked but not broken. Bloody lucky with that tree, buddy.” He closed his eyes at the reminder. He shouldn’t have moved. He should have left the trunk fall on him. Johanna could have finished him and… Chaff put an end to that train of thoughts. “Your team went a bit overboard with the medical supplies, you know.”

It was said in a light joking tone but it made Haymitch frown. He glanced down at his bandaged hand and then pushed the jacket that was covering him away, clenching his jaw against the pain. He was  bare-chested, a thick white elastic band was wrapped around his torso… He touched his forehead and his fingers found a band aid…

He met Chaff’s eyes over the fire but his friend remained flippantly neutral, simply nodding to the side where a silver parachute laid abandoned with small bottles that he supposed to be antiseptics.

Medical supplies were always the most expensive. This must have cost a fortune.

“You must have some sponsors lined up out there.” Eleven’s victor commented. “Impressive.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes again, bringing the jacket back up on his shivering body. “Probably leftovers from Katniss.”

“You know better.” Chaff retorted. “Your escort must have been working overtime.”

He shut his eyes tighter. He didn’t need the reminder. He didn’t need to think about what Effie had done to secure that much money. He had a good idea. Those things didn’t come cheap and even with Katniss’ leftover money and the few sponsors they probably had rooting for him… It didn’t add up. He could guess at what she had done to cover the expense. Sponsors or Gamemakers.

It made him seething mad.

Their dirty paws on his escort.

On his _wife_.

A waste too.

She shouldn’t have done that.

“She never knows when to quit.” he muttered.

“She can’t close deals by herself.” Chaff reminded him quietly. “The boy must have signed them. You know what that means, right?” Hopefully not. Effie wouldn’t have let Peeta compromise himself. Not even for him. A small pebble hit him in the shoulder and he groaned, opening his eyes to look at his friend since Eleven’s victor wanted his attention so badly. He was angry with Chaff, he realized. He had asked him to kill him, to _help_ him and… “It wasn’t your fault.”

The words were like a bucket of icy water poured on his head.

“Sure.” he spat. “You can ask the boy’s opinion on that one if you get out of here. Promised him I would get his girl back to him. Worked out really well, yeah?”

“Don’t need to ask his opinion.” Chaff shrugged. “ _Trinket can’t close deals by herself_. The kid’s sending you medical supplies. Take a hint, Haymitch. He’s not mad. He doesn’t blame you.”

He shook his head and got another pebble tossed at his shoulder for  his trouble. It was a bigger one and it annoyed Haymitch to no end. “Quit that.”

“Quit being an idiot, then.” Eleven’s victor shrugged.

“I killed Jo.” he snarled viciously, pushing on his bandaged hand to sit up. It was almost an accusation, a _challenge_. A dare for Chaff to tell him it was alright, that it didn’t count, that…

“I killed Blight.” Chaff offered. Haymitch blinked. He hadn’t expected that. His friend went on in a flat voice that didn’t do a good job at hiding just how disturbed he actually was. “Bastard tried to get a jump on me. Didn’t work out well for him.”

“Didn’t think he was the kind to go for a frontal attack.” he commented.

Eleven’s victor waved his stump. “A poisoned one-handed man walking around... He probably thought it would be easy. Too tempting.”

Haymitch’s grey eyes darted to the white marks on his friend’s neck at the word _poisoned_. It wasn’t a stretch to guess it had something to do with the dead spiders mutts in the corner. “How bad is it?”

“Spreading slow so far.” Chaff dismissed. “Slow but steady.” Eleven’s victor pulled down his shirt a little, showing more white poisonous webs spiraling down his collarbone. “My take is when it reaches my heart, I’m dead meat.”

“Better win fast.” Haymitch advised.

Dark eyes assessed him calmly. “Jo killed your girl. You killed Jo. It’s the game.”

He scoffed. “Killed Mags too.”

_That_ got his attention. Chaff frowned but it was gone in a moment. “Killed Cecelia.” Haymitch did a double take at that and it was his friend’s turn to snort bitterly. “We reached the Cornucopia at the same time. Thought she was coming at me. Probably trying to run away, poor woman.” Chaff shook his head. “Couldn’t tell anymore. Stabbed her.”

Haymitch looked down at the fire. Was there anyone left in that arena who hadn’t done horrible things by now? Killed someone innocent?

“I promised I would get Katniss out.” he whispered.

“Well, it was a _fucking_ stupid promise to make.” Chaff retorted. “She’s dead. Tributes die. The world still goes on spinning. Get over it, Haymitch. What do we always say?” He shook his head. The third pebble hit him in the head and he glared at his friend but the other victor looked nonplussed. “ _What_ do we always say?”

“Stay alive.” he grumbled. It was a _fucking_ useless advice and a _shitty_ line when it came to lifting his spirits. This wasn’t the typical _innocent kids got murdered for nothing_ scenario. This was a lot more personal. This was… “Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I’m tired.”

“We’re _all_ tired.” Chaff scowled. “You think your boy isn’t tired? Can swear he is. His girl’s dead and yet he’s _still_ out there making deals for you. You think Trinket’s not tired?” He reached behind his back, got something off his belt and tossed it at him over the fire. It fell flat in the dirt in front of Haymitch. A knife. Not any knife but _his_ knife. The knife he had won his Quell with. The knife he had left with Effie to give to Katniss. A reminder. “Came with the medical supplies. I’m guessing you get the message.”

_Fight. Survive. Find a way._

He rubbed his face, exhausted down to his bones.

“You’ve got people out there looking out for you, trying to get you _home_ to them.” Chaff went on, almost harsh now. “Now, you want to spit on that, you want to give up, you go out there and find Cashmere or Enobaria ‘cause I’m not going to do the work for you. Get yourself killed for all I care. But _decide_ ‘cause I can’t afford an ally with a death wish.”

Chaff stood up swiftly and strode out in the dark tunnel that Haymitch figured led outside, leaving him alone with his tormented conscience.

Reaching for the knife wasn’t a conscious move. His fingers brushed the worn out handle.

There was a choice to make here, Chaff was right.

He could drown in his grief and let himself get killed or he could try to survive. Survive another day. Stay alive. See what the next dawn would bring.

_Fight. Survive. Find a way._

His own words echoed in his head, making it difficult to think. He was too much of a survivor, had _always_ been too much of a survivor. If Effie didn’t know when to quit, _he_ didn’t know when to give up.

He could imagine her now, standing up behind the couch in the penthouse, too nervous to sit down, staring at the screen, biting down on a cigarette that she would have forgotten to light, holding her breath, waiting for his next move… Hoping he would get what she wanted.

_Fight. Survive. Find a way. Win. Come back to me._  

Reaching for the knife… Was it betraying Katniss?

Or was it giving up that would have been betraying the girl?

He knew what she would have said. That was the worst thing. They were too much alike, too desperate for another breath even at the worst times… Too much of survivors to lie down and die…

His fingers closed on the handle. It was an immediate comfort. It fitted perfectly in his palm as if it had been made for him, an extension of his arm. It had been so long, it might as well have been.

Slowly, testing out his injuries, he got to his feet and followed after Chaff. It was a short tunnel to the surface. Eleven’s victor was leaning against the entrance of the cave, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His dark eyes immediately darted to the knife gripped tight in his fist and his posture noticeably relaxed.

The sun was setting outside. He must have been out cold longer than he had thought. The surrounding woods told him they were in Twelve. Maybe they should have headed there first, like Katniss had wanted. Maybe then…

“What did I miss?” he forced himself to ask, to _focus_.

“A cannon this morning.” Chaff told him. “Quiet since.”

They waited for Panem’s anthem. The first face to appear was Elis Green’s from Six. She had held out longer than he had thought.

They didn’t stay to watch the rest. He didn’t want to see Johanna’s or Katniss’ picture flash up in the sky.

They made their way back to Chaff’s cave in silence. It left them with Cashmere, Enobaria, Beetee and Grant from Nine. And the two of them, of course.

“Thought you didn’t want allies.” he mumbled after they had sat back next to the fire. He accepted the fruits Chaff handed him, wincing when his bruised side protested the sudden move.

“Changed my mind.” Chaff claimed and left it at that.

Haymitch nodded and didn’t push.

He didn’t need to know what had changed.

It was _obvious_ what had changed.

Katniss was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo Haymitch has a new ally now. Any theory as to what changed Chaff's heart? Is it just Katniss' death? And did Effie panicked or what to have spent what's probably their whole budget over medical supply and the shipment of his knife? Let me know your thoughts!


	32. Famous Last Words

Chaff had been scratching his neck more and more in the last half hour.

Haymitch kept a discreet but steady watch on him as they checked the snares his friend had placed in the vicinity of the cave. Eleven’s victor was short of breath and he thought there were more pearly white spider webs on his skin than there had been the previous night. They needed an antidote and they needed it _fast_.

But no parachute was coming down from the sky.

Eleven probably couldn’t afford it.

And he doubted there would be anything else for him for the remaining of the Games. The last sponsor gift must have drained Twelve’s budget. Foolish. There had been nothing in there he had truly needed. The knife, maybe. But the medical supplies… He could have managed without them. 

Chaff wasn’t a hunter and he had made an awful job of those snares. Haymitch silently tried to improve them, more and more frustrated by his shaking fingers.

They were walking back toward the cave with only a meager squirrel to show for it  when a flock of birds suddenly flew out two quarters over. In Two or Three maybe. It was followed by an impressive unnatural roar and, a few minutes later, the sound of a cannon.

They exchanged a glance and went on.

Haymitch’s heart was beating that little bit faster though.

Five of them left.

He didn’t speak until they had sat down and they were sharing the squirrel. “Maybe we should try hunting them down.”

“Sure.” Chaff snorted. “’Cause I’m feeling peachy and you’re at full strength.”

He opened and closed his injured hand a few times. There was a problem with one of his knuckles, it might have been broken or out of place or something… But the pain was mild compared to the one in his chest and he would be able to wield his knife well enough. His torso was bruised an impressive shade of black and blue with some yellow for good measure and if anyone hit that particular spot in a fight, chances were he would see stars. Never mind the repetitive blunt traumas to his head.

He wasn’t at full strength, no. And neither was Chaff. But he knew only too well what happened to tributes who stayed out of the way and refused to play the game.

“We can’t stay here.” he objected.

He knew he was right.

And he knew Chaff knew.

“Trouble will find us.” Chaff agreed. “Guess it all depends on what we want to fight more: people or mutts. Unless they go for a nice cave-in.”

Haymitch pondered that while biting in an apple. All the fruits he had eaten were giving him a stomach ache but food was food and he needed to keep his strength up. He thought they might have better chances against people but he didn’t know if he could go against a familiar face again.

They didn’t really discuss it further.

They were waiting.

The word was never said out loud but that was what it felt like: _waiting_. Waiting for the Gamemakers’ next trick. Waiting for someone to find them.

He dozed off a little, tried to rest… The pain in his side flared now and then but he had had worse. At least his stomach wasn’t torn open this time around. The wound on his forehead was throbbing but he didn’t think it was getting infected, not for now at least.

His mind wandered.

Imagination was a deadly trap but he dived right into it anyway. He let himself think about a world where Thirteen hadn’t bailed out, a world where he would have remained out of the arena, a world where there would have been a war they would have eventually won… A world where the children were free from Hunger Games… A world where Katniss and Peeta would have found each other properly in the end… A world where he and Effie would have been free to…

He couldn’t see her living in Twelve and he couldn’t really see himself living in the city… They would have gone back and forth for a while maybe, try to establish some sort of routine… It would have been a challenge, one he would have been happy to undertake…

Thinking about that inevitably led him to think about other things. Like the softness of her skin under his fingertips… The sounds she made when he was buried deep inside her… The taste of her lips, of her sweat, of her sex… Her smell…

He could almost conjure it.

The subtle mix of her heavy expensive perfume, the flowery smell of her shampoo and that tinge of something that was just _her_ … 

If he closed his eyes really tight and pretended really hard… He could almost smell it, drown in it… He missed her. Like a hand around his throat cutting off his air supply. He _missed_ her.

He wasn’t sure he would see her again. He still wasn’t sure he really wanted to.

He didn’t deserve it.

Not after Katniss.

Not after Johanna.

Not after Mags.

Not after everything he would still need to do if he wanted to survive.

Chaff started coughing two hours after the cannon had boomed. There was blood at the corner of his lips when he finally managed to get his breath back.

Haymitch insisted on checking but it was no surprise to realize the poison was making his slow deadly way to his friend’s heart. The dark skin of his upper chest was covered with those pearly white lines. 

Another hour and Chaff was feverish although trying hard to hide it.

_“Attention, tributes!”_ Claudius Templesmith’s voice broke in. _“The Gamemakers would like to invite you to a feast at the Cornucopia at sundown. Who knows… Perhaps you will find what you need there!”_

Haymitch cursed under his breath.

“Not worth it.” Chaff objected before he could say anything. “Let them go. Clear out the competition. We can take whoever’s left.”

He shook his head. “You need the antidote.”

Eleven’s victor sighed. “Haymitch, I won’t be much help.”

“You stay here.” he suggested. “I’ll get it.”

His friend studied him in silence for a long minute and then shook his head, apparently coming to a decision. His face briefly closed in something somber before he lightened up again in his more usual brand of joyful attitude.

“And I’m gonna be dead by the time you come back.” Chaff snorted. “You want to be stupid enough to risk it, I go with you.”

Haymitch fiddled with his knife thoughtfully. “We know the layout. We can get in and out of the Mansion without meeting anyone.”

“Assuming the girls aren’t already hiding behind the Cornucopia.” his friend mocked. “You know better. They want an ending.”

“Let’s give them one, then, yeah?” he shrugged. “Not like you’re gonna live much longer without that antidote anyway.”

The bitter joke wasn’t funny at all and he wasn’t particularly trying to be. Someone had to say it out loud though, to remind the other _why_ they needed to go and _why_ they would need to fight.

“You’ve got such good nursing manners, buddy.” Chaff chuckled.

Haymitch rolled his eyes but picked up his stuff, getting ready. It would take them a good hour to reach the Mansion and he wanted to get a feel of the place before they went in.

They walked in silence, attentive to their surroundings. Chaff was clutching his cutlass, his face set in a pained scowl, his stump sometimes rubbing his neck or coming to rest over his heart.

Haymitch was gripping his own knife equally tight, doing his best to ignore the complains of his battered body. His body could rest when he was dead.

The Mansion looked calm under the quickly darkening sky.

Nothing moved outside.

They rounded the building to the garden’s entrance, making sure to stick to the shadows.

They had barely made it to the outer wall when a cannon boomed.

They went in anyway.

It was dark inside and they were too aware of the traps laying in wait. They weren’t exactly surprised to find Venus Grant’s body at the bottom of the stairs. Or what was left of him anyway. He had a few stab wounds and his throat had been torn in Enobaria’s distinctive signature.

“No use asking if the girls are here.” Chaff commented in a falsely amused whisper.

“This is it, then.” he answered, looking up the stairs with some dread and a good amount of… impatience. Adrenaline was rushing through him and he was almost eager for what would come. This Quell had lasted long enough. “You should wait here. I’ll get the antidote or I’ll clear out the way as much as I can for you.”

He wasn’t really expecting to walk out of this alive, not with two younger and fitter Careers thirsty for his blood, but if he could make sure Chaff won…

“Famous last words.” Eleven’s victor taunted. “Let’s go. Watch out for that rigged step.”

They were cautious up the stairs and even more cautious crossing the small mine field of a dining-room to the ballroom.

Most of the mirrors had been shattered but there were still enough of them left to make the place a deadly maze.

He took a deep breath before going in, briefly touching the golden bangle around his wrist. He didn’t think about Effie. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t imagine her staring at a screen, probably somewhere official because it would most likely be the end and she would be expected to watch it in a public place, trying to keep up appearances while she slowly died inside.

He was tempted, of course. Tempted to say something meaningful that would puzzle the whole Capitol but that _she_ would understand. Tempted to tell her again that he loved her. Tempted to…

Chaff’s stump tapped his shoulder, signaling he wanted to go first. Haymitch shook his head, pushing all thought of his escort – _wife_ – out of his mind.

He wouldn’t let the other victor be cannon fodder just because he was injured. They were both weakened. He could easily imagine what was going on outside with the betting boards. Chaff Mitchell and Haymitch Abernathy against Cashmere Ritchson and Enobaria Golding? Was there even a question as to who would win?

People were probably already awaiting the final showdown between Cashmere and Enobaria.

Well, they should think again. They might not be able to take both of them out but they could probably take one. And if they could take one, then whoever would be left standing would have a shot against the other Career.

They couldn’t afford to think about them as people, _friends_. They couldn’t. Haymitch reminded himself of that _firmly_. Chaff was family and Chaff needed that antidote. Chaff came first. He wouldn’t have the luxury of hesitating or of feeling pity. He would have to strike to kill. 

As discreet as they tried to be, glass crushed under their boots.

The girls were lighter and moved more silently.

He saw a shadow on his left and whirled around, heart hammering in his chest, but could see nothing. It was dark. The moonlight coming through the windows somewhere in the room wasn’t enough to make out more than rippling shadows and shapes on the distorting mirrors left standing.

Still, with so many broken mirrors, it wasn’t that difficult to locate the Cornucopia.

He spotted its dark shape right ahead and he was wavering between making a run for it and trying to find the Careers first when a mirror shattered right behind them.

He turned around but it was too late, Enobaria was already on Chaff.

He took one step in that direction and found himself with a monkey riding his back – or more likely _Cashmere_. He twisted his body downward _just_ in time to avoid the stab to the side of his neck. Her blade grazed his throat, leaving a gash behind and she was propelled to the floor in front of him.

For a second he panicked, certain she had sliced his throat open.

But he could still breathe and it didn’t feel deep.

The second of panic cost him, though.

Not only because the sudden move had awaken the pain in his side.

She jumped back on him with a battle cry and two knives in her hands.

He twisted his body to the side to avoid her dominant hand, his own knife lodging itself deep in her stomach. It wasn’t enough to avoid the blade ripping the skin of his left arm or ripping against his right collarbone but it was enough to save his life.

The hit to his shoulder made him grunt in pain and it was a miracle he kept hold on his knife.

She stumbled back, stunned, dropping one of her knives to press her hand to her stomach. It gave him time to wrap his own arm around his bruised torso. He met her blue gaze right before her face crumpled in rage. She kicked out her leg and it wasn’t a move he knew how to avoid. It didn’t do his cracked ribs any good. He was shoved back into another mirror that _miraculously_ didn’t break under his weight and barely had time to roll on the floor before her knife stabbed the exact place his head had been.

This time the glass shattered.

She screamed when the sharp pieces rained down on her.

Haymitch didn’t completely escape it either. Shards embedded themselves under his skin but he protected his head and nape as much as he could.

Cashmere was down, big shards jutting out of her back, and he saw his opportunity, took it and ran with it.

She was just starting to kneel so she could stand up when he slit her throat like she had tried to do to him.

He ignored the gurgling noise, he ignored the hot liquid pouring on his fingers, he ignored the fact the cannon didn’t boom right away, he turned around and searched the place for his friend.

Chaff’s fight with Enaboria had taken him further away and he wasn’t faring well. She wasn’t even holding any weapon, confident in her superior skills and probably eager to give her fans a show. It was clear to Haymitch the only reason she hadn’t killed Eleven’s victor yet was because she had been playing him like a cat with a mouse, getting ready for the big finish.

The cutlass was keeping her at arm’s length but Chaff’s hand was shaking and Enobaria was smiling hard, a harsh smile full of fangs. She had him and she knew it.

Kicking the cutlass away took her a second and a well-placed punch.

She pounced on him.

Chaff dropped on the floor rather than try to push her away, using her own momentum as a counter attack. It wasn’t enough to push her away. She straddled his hips and the other victor had no choice but to tangle his remaining fingers in her hair to try to keep her fangs away from his throat. It looked like a twisted parody of a lovers’ embrace.

Haymitch didn’t let himself think. He forgot about his wounds, his side or his exhaustion.

He ran.

He grabbed her around the waist and tossed her away easily. She hadn’t expected him to attack from behind, too confident that Cashmere would dispatch him without problem, and she paid it with her life.

He hadn’t aimed for the sharp broken piece of mirror springing out from the floor but it was just as well she fell there, impaled. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, eyes wide and pleading, and then the cannon boomed.

And just like that it was _over_.

Chaff chuckled and, soon, Haymitch was laughing too.

It was all kind of wrong.

But they were _alive_ and high on adrenaline.

He held out his hand for his friend and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get you that antidote.”

“And then what?” Chaff asked, still chuckling. The question had serious undertones though.

“Then we go our separate ways and we see what happens.” he retorted firmly.

They limped to the Cornucopia, worse for the wear, covered with blood that wasn’t all theirs.

It was obvious Cashmere and Enobaria had already looted whatever the Gamemakers had left there.

“ _Shit_.” Haymitch spat when he spotted the broken vial on the floor, at the mouth of the Cornucopia. “ _Bitch_.”

He didn’t know which one had done it but he was almost glad she was dead. That was a _shitty_ move. A really, really _shitty_ move.

For a moment, they stared at the broken vial, too tired and dismayed to move. 

“I’m sorry, Haymitch.” Eleven’s victor said slowly.

That should have been his line and he opened his mouth to say just that.

He barely avoided the cutlass that aimed for his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dum Dum Dum_ Those Games are coming to an end, it seems... Was this Feast everything you expected? Are our boys lucky or skilled? And, more important... What is going to happen next?


	33. A Better Man

Haymitch stumbled back and almost tripped on the few weapons left scattered around the Cornucopia. His knife was still in his hand but his arm dangled uselessly at his side, the stab wound on his collarbone and the exhaustion making it difficult to keep it lifted. His left arm was wrapped around his stomach in a pitiful attempt at containing the pain that Cashmere’s kick had increased.

Betrayal was nothing new but this time it cut deeper than the not so proverbial knife.

“It doesn’t have to play out this way.” he almost _begged_ his friend.

But it did, though.

And they both knew it.

For Chaff to get the antidote, he needed to win. And _fast_.

Determination was written on Eleven’s victor’s face even as his grip shook on the cutlass’ handle.

If he were a better friend, a better _man_ , Haymitch would let himself get stabbed and the whole thing would be over. He would have done a good deed and nobody but Chaff would have ever been the wiser – because he wouldn’t be as reckless as Katniss and wouldn’t outwardly suggest suicide, he would make it look credible, _real_.

And for a moment, he was tempted to do _just_ that.

But he had never been a good man, not really.

And he had always been too much of a survivor to just… let himself get stabbed.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” Chaff repeated calmly, peaceful like only someone who had just made a hard decision and was now enjoying the relief of having it lifted from his shoulders could be. 

This time, when he attacked, Haymitch was ready.

There was nothing graceful or even skilled to what followed. A distant part of himself mused that the Gamemakers and the audience must have been disappointed, it certainly wasn’t the epic showdown Cashmere and Enobaria would have been. Although maybe it was more poignant because everyone knew they were good friends.

Chaff attacked and Haymitch parried or sidestepped. He remained on the defense and didn’t try to hit the other victor. He was trying to figure out the most painless way to win this, a way that hopefully wouldn’t involve too much energy because he was _wiped_. He could barely focus on avoiding Eleven’s victor’s clumsy attempts at stabbing him.

Eventually, he feinted to the left, leaving his injured side exposed, hoping it would be enough of a bait while all the while knowing Chaff would never fall for something that obvious…

He _really_ hadn’t expected his friend to fall for it.

And so, when Chaff _did_ , and his blade ended up deep in the victor’s side, neatly stuck between two ribs, Haymitch was the first surprised.

Chaff didn’t even try to stab him again or to get away. Either the poison was finally kicking in or…

When his friend collapsed, Twelve’s victor instinctively let go of the knife to gently lower him to the floor. Chaff’s shortened arm found its way around his neck, bringing him down with him.. Haymitch slumped over his body, too exhausted to fight, too hurt to move or resist the pull…

He didn’t know how it looked from outside. Like they had both gone down? Like he was trying to make sure he had finished him? Like Chaff was holding him down in a desperate attempt at trying to get the upper hand?

Chaff should have seen through that feint.

But Chaff had always been a better man than he was.

He had made it look real.

“You get back to that girl of yours and you make the most of it.” Eleven’s victor murmured in his ear, low enough that no camera or mic would pick up on it. “You stay alive. My choice. Not your fault. You stay alive.” Chaff’s breathing was becoming labored and Haymitch wanted to scream. That was twice now his friend had saved his life when all he had wanted was for the whole thing to _end_. “ _Scratch that_ … You _live_ , Haymitch. Don’t just _stay_ alive. You go back to your girl and you _live_.”

“You’re an _asshole_.” he gritted through his teeth. “You’re an…”

“Yeah, I love you too.” Chaff chortled, choking on his own blood. “You tell Fay… You tell Fay…”

But whatever it was he had wanted Haymitch to tell his sister was lost to the world.

Chaff went still and Haymitch rested his forehead on his shoulder, eyes shut tight.

The cannon boomed.

His ears rang with the implication.

It felt to him as if that moment between the last cannon and Claudius Templesmith’s voice echoing around lasted forever.

It seemed surreal.

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the Third Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy! I give you the victor of District Twelve!”_

Haymitch rolled on his back, away from Chaff, not sure what he was supposed to do now.

He hadn’t been awake the last time around.

He stared at the ceiling, breathing hard through his mouth, feeling slightly nauseous. His whole body hurt. His mind was in overdrive.

He startled when the lights went on and voices came closer. He scrambled back until his back was to the Cornucopia and he felt around for a weapon, his knife still being deep in Chaff’s chest. He had tossing knives strapped to his ankles but his fingers closed on the handle of an axe that was far too heavy for him to lift.

It was supposed to be over.

Why wasn’t it over?

The harsh glare from neon lights above blinded him and he could only…

“Mr Abernathy, please drop your weapon or we will be forced to sedate you.” a calm professional voice said. “The hovercraft is waiting outside. We can provide a stretcher if you do not think you can walk.”

He blinked until he could make out the figure in front of him. _Lab coat_. Three lab coats. And Peacekeepers.

His fingers tightened on the axe.

“They said I won.” he heard himself say. He hated how weak and pleading he sounded. He didn’t want to kill people again. Not even if they looked Capitol and…

“You did.” the man confirmed. “We are here to take you back to the Center. I am Doctor Larnius. You know me, I am the one who put the tracker in your arm. Please, drop your weapon.”

The man’s face was familiar but he wasn’t in any state to be sure if he indeed knew him or not. What he knew, though, was that the Peacekeepers were armed and dangerous. And he was too tired to wield that axe. He took his hand away from the handle.

The doctor took a step closer but one of the Peacekeepers held him back. His voice was harsh and uneasy. “All the weapons.” When all Haymitch could do was blink, the guard relaxed a little. “The knives, Abernathy. Lose the knives.”

He unstrapped the knives and tossed them away. Then, and only then, did the doctor come closer. Haymitch recoiled.

He was breathing hard through his mouth. His gaze darted around, looking for an escape route, looking for… He could snap the doctor’s neck. He didn’t need weapons. He didn’t… A small light was shone directly in his eyes and he blinked hard. The doctor seemed satisfied with what he saw though.

“Your pupils are reacting. I don’t think there is any head trauma so there is no risk in giving you some drugs… Would you prefer to be sedated?” the man asked, not unkindly.

Haymitch started shaking his head and then he saw what was happening around him.

The Games were over.

The curtains had closed.

The arena was now a movie set nobody had any use for.

No longer deadly.

No longer a theater of death. 

And Peacekeepers were tossing the corpses scattered around the ballroom in body bags. When two of them grabbed Chaff’s, he felt sick. He wanted to protest, to tell them to be more careful, not to hurt him…

It took his brain a few seconds to remember Chaff was dead.

Chaff had sacrificed himself for him.

More prosaically, he had killed him. 

So he was shaking his head no but what came out of his lips was a tired “Please”.

He didn’t see the needle coming.

All he saw was the body bag being zipped on Chaff’s dead face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Haymitch wins the Third Quarter Quell... Were you expecting that kind of sacrifice from Chaff? What do you think made him do it? And more importantly... Now that the show is over, can Haymitch come back from that arena? Will he be safe outside? Are you looking forward to the hayffie reunion? Let me know all your thoughts!


	34. Get Out

Haymitch woke up with his heart in his throat.

_Fear_.

Brutal primitive _fear_.

His eyelids flew open, his heart hammering hard in his chest matching the distant beeping of some machinery, and all he could see was white. He tried to scramble up, instinctively knowing he needed a weapon, to identify the threat, to…

His body was heavy and it wouldn’t move.

He was lying on his good side, the pain only a distant thing that he knew was there but couldn’t feel… There was a needle in the back of his hand and he figured there were drugs involved. Drugs…

“Haymitch.”

His eyes tiredly traveled from the white wall to the origin of the voice and there she was. Effie Trinket in a pink dress and golden wig, sitting on a chair, looking exhausted despite the heavy coat of make-up on her face, turning that ring around her finger… There was relief in her voice. Something else too.

He didn’t register anything.

He saw her and it dawned on him that the whole thing was real.

The whole thing hadn’t been some twisted nightmare or withdrawal-induced hallucination.

They were dead.

All his friends.

_Dead_.

Some of them killed by his own hands.

Katniss…

He met her eyes just as the first sob broke free. And then there was no stopping it. He couldn’t _feel_ the _physical_ pain and he _deserved_ to be in pain… He deserved… The sob ended in a raspy gasp and then there was another and another and Effie’s escort mask crumbled in… dismay? Pain? Terror?

“Oh, darling…” she whispered.

She moved from the chair to the bed without hesitation, embracing him without a second thought, trying her best to wrap herself around him, to… _help_ maybe.

He was beyond help.

He shouldn’t have been there.

It shouldn’t have been him.

It was supposed to be Katniss. And if not Katniss, then someone else. He should have done for Chaff what his friend had done for him. He should have… He should have been braver. He should have found it in himself to be the bigger man. Even Cashmere or Enobaria would have been better than him.

The more those thoughts swirled in his mind, the hardest he cried.

It was plain to see Effie didn’t know what to do. She had never seen him lose it like that.  Cry, maybe, during one of his bad drunken nights when the pain had been so much he had babbled about his past without meaning to. But never like that. _Never_ like _that_.

His body felt so heavy and he clung to her. He felt as if he was drowning and she was the only thing that could possibly keep him afloat. He clung to her, his face buried in her neck… Her grip tightened but she was starting to panic.

“Haymitch, you need to calm down…” she begged. “You will only hurt yourself further…”

He couldn’t breathe anymore. He couldn’t… He sobbed and gasped until it turned to heaving and he heard the click of a door…

“No.” Effie said firmly. She wasn’t speaking to him. He didn’t think so. But he didn’t want to see anyone else right now so he kept his face pressed against her skin, slightly reassured by her familiar smell and the silky feeling of soft fabric under his cheek. “I will handle it.”  Whoever it was – doctor or nurse – replied something he didn’t catch. Her voice, however, was clear as crystal. A growl, really. “I _said_ I will handle it. Get out. _I_ take the decisions here.”

He shut his eyes tight, so tight it hurt – or it would have if he hadn’t been so pumped with drugs. He wished it would stop. The whole thing. He wished he could  go to sleep and never wake up. He wished…

But the things he had done…

He was shaking.

He felt her hand in his hair, soft and soothing. Her lips against his temple.

“Please, darling…” she murmured. “Try to breathe for me.”

_He had won for her._

The thought came unbidden. Almost an accusation in his mind.

He had won for her and he should never have.

He should never have.

If only Chaff had let him stay with Katniss. If…

He was _so tired_ …

“They will come back and sedate you if you don’t. I know you hate that but I only have so much power and it is for your own good.” she warned gently. “I had to make a fuss so they wouldn’t touch you, you know… They wanted to pump your chest with plastic, make you look more…” She sighed and he felt her breath ghost against his cheek. “I stopped them from removing the scars too. I didn’t know if you would want to. You can decide that for yourself later.”

_Scars_.

He supposed he had new ones to add to his collection now. Cashmere’s knife would have left a mark if anything.

It helped that she talked.

He focused on her voice.

On the familiar rhythm of it.

The sobs eased a little. Enough that he could breathe.

“You were unconscious for two days.” she hummed. “They repaired your broken hand and your cracked ribs. There is still some bruising but there is nothing they can do about that. The wound on your shoulder won’t leave lasting damage. You were lucky. _So_ lucky…” He stiffened in her arms and she quickly backtracked. “That wasn’t what I meant. When that tree fell on you…” Her breath caught in her throat and, when she talked next, her voice was broken, _rough_ … “I thought it was _it_. I thought I had lost you. I could only watch your monitor and wait and…”

He squeezed her shoulder.

He wasn’t really aware of it.

“I am sorry.” she confessed. “I am sorry but I am _so_ happy…”

He opened his eyes and stared at the fingers that were gripping her shoulder from behind. They had cleaned him up at some point. His hand wasn’t covered in blood any longer – although he could still see it with every blink – but there was only so much they could do while he was unconscious and still wounded and his fingernails were dirty. He wondered what the black grime was. Blood. Skin. Dust.

His stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought. He wanted a shower but he knew nobody would let him get one. Not _now_ anyway. He remembered last time. He remembered and… He was dizzy. The room danced around him and he closed his eyes again, letting her hold him, not sure he wasn’t going to puke.

Either he had exhausted the tears or he had exhausted himself.

“Katniss…” he managed to croak.

Effie shuddered.

“It was _not_ your fault.” she said immediately. “I know you wanted to ignore it  but we all knew it was a possibility. It was _not_ your fault. _No one_ thinks that, Haymitch, no one. Johanna… I do not think she was sane anymore. She was _raving_. The Gamemakers wouldn’t even show her on the live feed, she was… She was hunting you, Katniss… She seemed to think Katniss was responsible for her predicament. She was trailing you when you left the plains. When she realized you were heading for Eleven… She got there first, chopped a tree and laid in wait.” He felt her lips leaving frantic kisses on his temple. “It was _not_ your fault.”

But it _was_.

He knew it was.

He should have been more attentive.

He should have…

“Haymitch.” she insisted firmly. “She was dead. There was nothing else you could have done. I knew you would… That is why we sent the knife. We wanted you to win. _Both of us_. Do you understand what I am saying?”

_Win_ …

It still felt surreal.

Maybe he was still in the cave imagining things.

Maybe this was all the sick fantasy of a dying man.

Maybe…

“Don’t leave me.” he begged at the thought. He didn’t want her to fade away. He didn’t want to…

“Never.” she promised, her fingers combing through his hair in a soothing manner. “You should try to get more rest. They will take you off morphling soon. The crowd is… impatient.”

“No.” he refused point blank. The idea of facing anyone….

“There is no need to talk about this now.” she quickly dismissed. “You certainly earned a few more days of rest. It is just… I have been staying with you and Peeta has been forced to handle everything else and… I would spare him more interviews if I could. They are not being particularly understanding of his grief.”

_Grief_.

Katniss.

The lump was back in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“It will be alright.” she declared confidently, with enough fake cheer to make him feel sick again. “The important thing is that you came back. They are hungry for their victor but I will shield you from them as much as I can.”

_Victor._

He had won.

He still couldn’t process it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

Not when he had gone in with the likes of Finnick, Brutus and Katniss.

Not when he had killed three close friends and two women who had had their lives ahead  of them.

Not when he had failed the only person he had _never_ wanted to fail.

His eyelids opened again and all he could see was his dirty fingernails.

“’M disgusting.” he mumbled.

“What?” she drew back a little to look at him but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He recoiled from her embrace, suddenly very aware that death had clung to him even there.

“Get away from me.” he demanded, a touch of panic in his voice. He didn’t want to sully her. He wanted her _gone_. He didn’t want anyone to see him or touch him or… “Get _the fuck_ away from me.”

He barely saw the hurt flashing on her face when he almost fell off the bed in his sudden need to get _away._ She immediately gave him room though, too used to this sort of things happening at night or when he was drunk.

“Ain’t going out there.” he stated. He _wouldn’t_. He would stay right there. He would stay right there and… He wanted to _disappear_. Redo the whole previous week. Go back. Lose. _Die_. 

“You don’t need to concern yourself with this.” she coaxed, crouching next to the bed so they could be at eye-level. “I told you. I will buy you as much time as I can.”

As much time as she could meant very little.

As much time as she could meant a few days at best and then…

Then, back to the _circus_.

And not as a _mentor_ but as a _victor_.

His heart started hammering inside his chest again when he realized what it _really_ meant. The crowning, press conferences, interviews, parties… Or would they whisk him back to Twelve and cut everything short like they had done with the kids the previous year? – and thinking about the kids made him remember about _Katniss_ and her broken face and… _Twelve_. He _couldn’t_ go back to Twelve. He _couldn’t_. It had been unbearable enough to think about facing Maysilee’s sister the last time but he had thought he would be going back to his _family_. There was nothing there for him now. Nothing but Aster and Prim and a whole District who probably hated him because he had failed and Katniss Everdeen had gone back home in _a coffin_ when _he_ survived… He couldn’t go back… He couldn’t…

“Haymitch.” Effie called but her voice came from afar, muffled as if he was underwater.

And there would be the Tour. And he would have to face them all. Not only the surviving victors whose former tributes or mentors he had killed but their families. And if the Capitol was very cruel, and it always was, then it wouldn’t be just speeches and dinners either, it would be the whole usual shebang. Visiting each District in front of the cameras, pretending to have fun, meeting with the local victors, promoting the local trade, being the Capitol’s propaganda’s mouthpiece…

Fingers grabbed his injured hands and squeezed hard but he couldn’t hear anything that Effie was saying. He wasn’t even sure she was talking to him. There was too much white noise around him. Too much…

The hugeness of it all was settling on him and he was sure of only one thing: he couldn’t do it.

Not again.

Not now.

Why wasn’t he dead?

Why wasn’t he…

A hand grabbed his shoulder and, suddenly, everything came back into focus with a sharp clarity that made him want to throw up. He swore his ears popped.

“Breathe.” Peeta ordered.

For a long endless second, he stared into the boy’s blue eyes and time stopped. The kid looked awful. Ashen face to which clung some spot of hastily wiped foundation, dark bags under his eyes, tangled blond hair, a deep grief Haymitch was too familiar with in his gaze…

“Get out.” he rasped out, shoving the boy away.

He couldn’t even _look_ at Peeta.

If he had failed Katniss, it was nothing compared to the boy. He had _promised_ him he would bring the girl back. He had _promised_. He couldn’t look at him without seeing her face split open again, that axe, the noise…

“Get out!” he shouted, forcing himself into a sitting position, fighting the drugs in his system… When Peeta grabbed his shoulders to make him stay put, searching Effie’s eyes, Haymitch didn’t even think before pushing him away again. He was weak and the boy didn’t move one inch. His voice grew raw, desperate, _terrified_ of his own guilt. “Don’t wanna see you! Don’t wanna see anyone! Get out! Get out! _Get out_!”

He didn’t see where the needle that sank in his neck was coming from.

A doctor maybe.

He was still trying to free himself from the boy’s grip when a blessed darkness washed over his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... He was overdue for a breakdown no? What did you think of the hayffie reunion? Do you think Haymitch can come back from that? I want to hear all your thoughts!


	35. A Cresta Situation

“It’s been five days.” Peeta’s voice announced.

Haymitch didn’t so much as blink. He kept staring at the same white wall he had been staring at for hours, his legs cramping from not moving in so long. He was lying on his side and he couldn’t see them. The boy and their escort were talking on the threshold, in hushed voices that he could still perfectly hear.

He heard everything.

He had been hearing everything for days.

He just didn’t care.

He couldn’t care.

Not about the woman’s desperate reassurances that none of it had been his fault or that nobody was angry with him, not about her sweet whispered confessions of love in the dead of night, not about Peeta’s tentative attempts at telling him he didn’t blame him, not about the doctors’ speeches about his recovery, not about the fact they had taken him off morphling, not about the fact they wanted him to eat and drink and stand up and talk…

He didn’t eat.

He didn’t drink.

He didn’t stand.

He didn’t talk.

He stared at the wall.

He was numb.

Numb to the world, numb to feelings, numb to pain…

Maybe there had been a short circuit in his brain. Maybe sometimes there was something like _too much_. Maybe his body was surviving but there was nothing inside anymore.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

“I know.” Effie sighed.

And he supposed she _did_.

Effie hadn’t moved from his line of sight, as much as he could tell. The doctors weren’t pleased with her. She didn’t eat either. She didn’t drink enough. They had threatened to put her on a drip. He thought so at least. It was jumbled in his head. He couldn’t focus. Not really. He was too numb for that.

Her escort persona was melting.

It had started with the wig that she had tossed on the couch in the corner of the room. She lied there sometimes, napped… Then it had been the smudged make-up that she hadn’t bothered to put back on after splashing cold water on her face… And now it was the creased pink dress that still sported the stains from his crying fit on her shoulder when he had first woken up.

She hadn’t left the room once. She disappeared in the small bathroom from time to time. That was it. She refused to leave even when the nurses were doing things. He didn’t care about that either. They could wash him, touch him, change whatever needed to be changed… Usually it would have made his skin crawl but, right then, he didn’t care. His body felt heavy and dead. He didn’t feel their hands on him. He didn’t feel _anything_.

Everything was shut down.

“Look, they’re getting tired of my crying about Katniss on TV.” Peeta snapped and there was bitterness in there, _anger_.

“I’m sorry.” Effie whispered and _her_ voice was _broken_ , tired. “I know it is unfair to you… I know I should…”

“No, no…” the boy cut her off, suddenly sounding tired too. The anger was gone. “ _I_ ’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. They’re asking questions, Effie. Not just about him. You haven’t been out there since they brought him back. People are talking.”

“Let them talk.” she dismissed. “There have always been rumors, it’s… I can handle it. Later.”

“You should come back to the penthouse for a little while at least.” Peeta insisted. “Take a shower, get some real sleep in a proper bed… Take care of yourself.”

“I will once he is recovered.” she promised.

“He _is_ recovered.” the boy countered. “Physically… He’s all cleared. That’s what the doctor told Heavensbee and that’s why Heavensbee’s been hounding me all day. He wants to know if we have another Cresta situation on our hands. Whatever _that_ means. He wants to talk to you.”

“If he wants to talk to me, he can take the elevator and come down here. I have no time to cater to his wishes.” she hissed.

“Effie.” Peeta warned.

“I do not care anymore!” she scowled, her voice raised in frustration – or irritation, it was hard to say. There was a ruffling of fabric and then another deep sigh. “I apologize, Peeta, I…”

“You’re exhausted.” the boy rebuked. There was more ruffling of fabric and, maybe, a small sob. “Oh, Effie…”

Haymitch almost wanted to turn around to see what was going on. _Almost_. But turning around meant caring and caring was dangerous. Numb was easy. Dead was easy. Caring… Caring would kill him.

He thought they must have been hugging.

“Tell Head Gamemaker Heavensbee this is not at all a Cresta situation.” she said, clearly attempting to sound firm. “Haymitch just needs some time. He has been through a lot. Certainly they can understand that?”

Peeta seemed to hesitate. “The popular victors are gone. They’re left with just me and a couple of very pissed off grieving people… I don’t think they know how to handle the situation. The Capitols want their victors.”

“Perhaps they should have thought twice before having them slaughter each other, then.” Effie snorted bitterly.

There were more whispers and then the door was shut softly. The clicking of her heels came closer and she dropped on the chair next to the bed without her usual grace. She dragged the chair until he wasn’t staring at the white wall anymore but at her pink dress.

She cleared her throat.

“Do not pretend not to have heard that. It _has_ been five days since you woke up, Haymitch.” she declared. “It is time to… to _bounce_ back. You have wallowed enough.” He barely blinked. She sighed, covering her face with her hands, bending forward until her elbows were resting on her knees. “ _Do_ we have a Cresta situation? Are you… Are you _gone_?”

It happened to some victors. They retreated so far in their mind nothing could touch them anymore. It was always a conundrum for the Gamemakers, always a problem because there _had_ to be a crowning no matter the cost and a Tour after that. Annie hadn’t been the first and she wouldn’t be the last. Haymitch didn’t think he was that far gone. He just couldn’t care. At all.

“Hurt isn’t dead.” she whispered tiredly.

But it was. Sometimes.

“I love you.” She said it like it was a magic spell that would make everything okay.

He wished it would.

He wished.

He said those words and it was a farewell. Why hadn’t it worked this time around? Why?

“If you love me, please come back to me.” she begged. “ _Please_ …”

But he already had.

Didn’t she see?

He had taken the knife and had fought for it and now he was back and he was dead inside.

He closed his eyes just so he wouldn’t have to see the dirty pink silk of her dress.

Maybe he drifted off. 

The knocking on the door made him open his eyelids again. It was a reflex.

“Who is it?” Effie called from the chair. She hadn’t moved. Her head was still in her hands, she was still bent in two. A broken puppet whose strings had been cut. A broken doll.

“Alina.” a familiar voice answered.

Panic struck, immediate and instinctive, and Haymitch curled up tighter with a flinch. The movement didn’t escape Effie. Her blue eyes studied him, suddenly sharp. There was something in them. Something sad but resigned.

She would turn her away. He knew she would. She hadn’t let anyone in the room but doctors, nurses and Peeta. She had turned away a Gamemaker who had come to enquire about his health and she had point blank refused entry to Two’s escort who had wanted to drag her back upstairs for some proper meal and whatever party they were having in his honor.

“Come in.” she invited.

And he whined.

The noise was one of pained betrayal and Effie’s face closed up in a somber mask. The make-up helped but she didn’t need it to hide behind her pretences.

By the time the door opened, she had a bright smile on her lips.

She wasn’t wearing her wig or her make-up. She never let anyone see her like that.

Except when he was rotting away in a hospital bed apparently.

 _Unfair_ , he wanted to protest. 

“Hello.” Alina Graves offered, a little hesitantly. “I hope you don’t mind…”

“Not at all.” Effie dismissed. “Peeta mentioned you had been helping him. That is _very_ generous of you. I _have_ been meaning to send you a thank you note but…”

The escort’s voice was a little frosty, like always when she was talking to Eight’s victor. Effie didn’t deal well with past flames of his. Not that there ever was any _actual_ _flame_. Just…

Haymitch was tired and his jaw clenched because he didn’t want to do this. He wanted to stay numb and not care and…

“Don’t worry about it.” Alina said gently. “I brought you clothes. Peeta said he would have done it before but he didn’t want to go through your drawers. I think he was embarrassed, really. So I went ahead and did it myself.”

“Oh, thank you!” Effie exclaimed with genuine appreciation. She was off that chair and out of his line of sight before he could blink. “ _Truly_. Thank you. This dress is… Well, it is filthy, there is no other word for it.”

She laughed and Alina did too and it was like he wasn’t lying there, like nothing had happened, like the world was still spinning…

How could they act like the world was still spinning?

“I packed up a toiletry bag too.” Alina added, as an afterthought. “I thought you’d like some make-up but I wasn’t sure what to take so it’s pretty much basic stuff.”

There was some rummaging. Probably Effie inspecting said bag.

“That’s _perfect_.” she declared. “I _cannot_ thank you enough. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble… Do you mind sitting with Haymitch while I take a quick shower?”

And there it was.

The trap.

Peeta had been offering for days to sit with him while she took some time off.

“No problem.” Alina accepted easily. “I’ve been hoping to have a chat with him actually.”

Effie’s voice was a little terse when she answered. “Good luck with that.”

The clicking of heels wandered away, the bathroom door was pushed shut and the sound of running water could soon be heard behind the wall.

She would take her sweet time too, he figured, leaving him at the mercy of a woman he deserved the anger of.

Alina was standing behind his back and the prickle at his nape, the sense of danger… He bore it as long as he could but eventually it became too much, even for his numb dead self, and he turned around. He hadn’t moved in so long his muscles cramped and protested. It was his bad side too and, even though they had repaired the bones, his body ached.

He almost expected her to pull out a knife.

“Are you just sulking or are you crazy?” she asked, point blank. “’Cause everyone’s wondering in the mentors lounge, Haymitch. There’s an actual betting pool.” That wasn’t what he had been expecting. He tried not to look at her, to stare at the wall next to her, but she wouldn’t be ignored. She had _never_ liked being ignored. Not by him anyway. She stepped in front of him, arms crossed over her chest. “Or are you just stupid enough to think we hate you? Is that it?”

He flinched for the second time.

His eyes darted up to her face and away again.

She softened a little and sat down at the edge of the mattress. He could feel the warmth of her side against his stomach and he wished she wouldn’t. He didn’t _want_ warmth. He didn’t _deserve_ warmth.

When she pushed on his shoulder, he rolled on his back, not even trying to resist. And when she grabbed his chin, he let her do what she wanted. Maybe she would slide her fingers down and squeeze his throat. Maybe she would end this nightmare. Maybe…

Alina had never been bloodthirsty, a killer by circumstances but not by choice.

The grip on his chin forced him to meet her eyes.

All he could smell was almond. She always smelt like almond.

“We’ve been taking turns in the corridor for days, Haymitch.” she told him. “Your boy said you didn’t want to see anyone. But there’s always been one of us out there, alright? None of us hate you.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, hoarse and raw. “I killed them.”

Alina shrugged and he had the distinct feeling she was taking pain to look detached. “And _they_ would have killed _you_. And _we_ would still be here for whoever had made it out. Because it could have been us and every single one of us would have done what you did. We understand. We _forgive_.”

The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance.

She cupped his cheek, brushing away the tears that seemed to spill without his consent from time to time. He couldn’t hold them. It was the pain. It was too big for him.

“This has gone on long enough.” she chided him. “Your escort is two seconds away from collapsing, your boy’s been forced to talk about his despair over losing his girlfriend so many times it’s a miracle he hasn’t already snapped and done something rash and incredibly stupid on live TV… They’re adrift. They need you.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” she said and he believed her. Who would have wanted to win when it meant so many dead friends? “But you _did_ and right now the Capitol wants his two times Quell victor. The Gamemakers are getting nervous.” She smiled a little and it was sad. “Your escort and your kid… They need you. Do you understand?”

Had she come out of the goodness of her heart or had she been sent by Heavensbee? He understood the message loud and clear though.

He didn’t have the luxury of remaining numb or uncaring.

Not if he didn’t want to lose more people than he already had.

So he nodded.

“I’m sorry about Cecelia and Woof.” he whispered.

“We’re all sorry about someone.” she replied softly. “I mean what I said though. None of us hate you. None of us _blame_ you. If anyone understands, it’s us, alright? To be honest, you won’t want to hear it but everyone’s pretty impressed. You _really_ weren’t the one we were betting on.”

“Wasn’t the one I was betting on either.” he sneered.

Her thumb ran on his cheekbone. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad it was you.”

The bathroom door opened and Effie froze for a second at the position she found them in. Alina took her hand back and stood up without hurrying, as if it was a perfectly normal occurrence for her to sit on his bed and touch his face. He wasn’t sure her casualness would help their case.

“My apologies. I did not mean to intrude.” Effie beamed, far too cheerfully. She was back in battle armor. Wig, make-up, tight blue dress that showed up legs that went on forever…

“You’re not. I was leaving.” Alina countered. “But I’ll be back. And you can expect more visitors.” The last part was directed at him and Haymitch nodded. “I’m sure you will be out and about in no time anyway.”

Effie was still standing on the bathroom’s threshold when Eight’s victor closed the door behind her. The air felt thick and he wasn’t sure why. Well, he had an inkling but…

“I’m hungry.” he lied.

She blinked and the escort was back in charge. She called a nurse and fussed over his pillows, talking nonstop about how nice it was to feel clean and how much better he would feel when he would take a proper shower, protesting when the nurse brought _two_ trays… He was treated to a light meal, something he could digest without getting sick, and she munched on a sandwich without much gusto.

They didn’t talk.

She was staring at her plate and he was trying to find the right words.

It seemed trivial, her jealousy over something that never really was. He had never loved Alina, not like that. He might have if he had met her later, not so soon after his girl, but that wasn’t how it had played out and he wasn’t sorry for it.

He was sure she was constructing a very convoluted story in her mind, about how he just loved the victor more, how that was the reason why he was now willing to _interact_ when she had been trying to get him to do that for days with no results…

He had been through a lot with Effie…

But Alina had been through something similar and that was what made the difference…

That and…

 _He needed to protect them_.

He would have remained in bed staring at the wall if the choice had been left to him. He wouldn’t have cared.

But he couldn’t help himself.

He couldn’t help _but_ care for her, for the boy.

He had failed Katniss.

He couldn’t…

It didn’t make everything else okay. It didn’t make it any easier for him to swallow. It didn’t help him imagine how he was going to survive this.

“Sweetheart?” he hesitated.

She looked up at him, a question in her exhausted blue eyes. He should send her back to the penthouse. He should have done that days earlier. But he had asked her not to leave him instead and she had stuck close. It was selfish but he didn’t want her to leave. He _needed_ her. He needed…

“You’ve got my bangle?” he asked, making an effort to form a coherent sentence, hoping she would get the meaning behind it.

His wrist had been bare ever since he had woken up.

As if on instinct, she touched the iris shaped ring. The wedding ring she had chosen for herself. Her eyes darted from him to the door.

“Are you sure you want it back?” she asked.

It was an out.

He saw it for what it was.

They had shared a toasting because they had thought he was going to die.

She was smart enough to know he would never have offered otherwise.

But he hadn’t died and now she was giving him an out.

An out from a marriage they would never be able to acknowledge. What sort of life would they have? Once she wouldn’t be his escort… A month, two months a year when not having her on the staff meant even less time together and…

It wasn’t a life.

But that was on him, wasn’t it?

Victors weren’t excluded from the city outside of the Games. There were always events. He had made the choice to stick as far away from the Capitol as he could unless he was forced to attend but… That was on him.

He couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Twelve, of facing the people there..

He couldn’t…

She was all he had left.

Plain and simple.

And he was selfish.

 _Always_ so selfish.

“If you are.” he answered.

And there was _her_ out.

She snorted almost immediately and, for the first time since Alina showed up, she relaxed. The bangle had been safe in her purse and her fingers quivered when she slipped it back around his wrist. He caught her forearm before she could move away, brushing his thumb against the soft skin of her inner wrist.

The caress was all he could offer right now but she seemed to understand.

Her smile was just as soft as her skin.

Relieved, maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo Alina saves the day! For those who don't remember, she was mentioned in earlier chapters and it's one of my semi-reccuring OC, she's a victor from 8 who won two years after Haymitch and they had a short affair. Do you think Haymitch needed to hear what she said? Are Effie and Peeta in danger? Next week we will have a _prestigious _guest... Can you guess who? Let me know your thoughts!__


	36. I Belong To You

The air was thick.

Haymitch was glad to get out of the hospital paper gown, was even gladder to leave the hospital room for the penthouse even if it meant kicking the wheel into motion… But he wasn’t glad for Peeta’s overwhelming presence in Effie’s absence.

She had been in and out during the last three days, reluctant to leave him but forced to go play the game she had ignored for too long. People were asking questions, making assumptions… She had told him not to worry about it, that she would handle it, so he was doing as instructed.

He didn’t have space for too much worrying and he was already anxious _sick_ about what was going to come in the next few days.

His fingers were shaking and buttoning his shirt required his entire focus. It was a good thing. A distraction. Because the boy was staring.

He had mostly ignored Peeta ever since Alina’s visit. He tended to ignore people if he could get away with it. It was easier. There had been more victors coming and going with the same reassurances Alina had given him, not always so outwardly offered but the promise was in there all the same. He was still welcome, still part of the club. Lucky him.

He hadn’t been alone with Peeta in all this time either and he supposed he ought to say something, offer an apology at the very least, an explanation at worst… He had nothing to say. Anything he could say would sound cheap and, truth be told, no amount of apologies or explanations would make the situation okay. He couldn’t even _look_ at the boy. Not without remembering in vivid colors his spectacular failure.

It was unfair, of course, but it was the way it was. He knew that tune, he had been dancing to it ever since Maysilee had died. You could never look in the eyes the people the dead allies had left behind. That was where the ghosts resided.

He hadn’t dreamed of them yet. He hadn’t had nightmares.

They would come.

He knew they would.

The boy was staring and he was sure Peeta was gathering courage to say something Haymitch really didn’t want to hear.

“Please don’t.” he requested preemptively, finally giving up on the shirt. Who cared if three buttons were left open at the collar?

Peeta seemed to hesitate, then he handed him the jacket. “If you can make it to the window, you should wave at them. It will go a long way in making the Gamemakers happy.”

Making the Gamemakers happy wasn’t exactly his top priority but he snatched the jacket from the boy’s hand and shrugged it on with less swiftness than he would have liked. His shoulder ached where Cashmere had stabbed him and the bruises on his side were fading but they were still a nice shade of purple and yellow. The good thing was that his torso and shoulder hurt enough that he barely felt the residual throb in his hand.

He wasn’t as steady on his legs as the doctors would have liked yet but victors were always rushed out of the hospital as soon as possible anyway and he had gained more recovery time than most. His steps were slow but purposeful. From the bed to the window,  an area he had carefully given a wide berth until then, precisely to avoid facing the country a while longer.

He took a deep breath before reaching for the handle. He wasn’t sure he was glad or resentful for the boy’s insistent presence at his side. He would have preferred accusations and declarations of hate. _That_ , he would have known how to deal with. There was anger alright in Peeta’s gaze but he didn’t think even half of it was directed at him and there was affection there too, a fondness Haymitch certainly didn’t deserve.

“It’s just a week or two at most.” Peeta promised. “Then, we’re going home. It’ll be easier at home.”

_Home_.

He opened the window and he was greeted with such a clamor he wondered if that was something the boy and Effie had planned: his spontaneous appearance at the window… Not difficult to put in place. One word to the press… Another to a couple of influent sponsors… He forced his lips to stretch into something that might have passed for a smirk and he waved with his left hand to spare his aching shoulder. The sun caught the bangle, almost blinding him. That was good. Better than seeing the crowd that was pressing at the foot of the building, chanting his name.

_Home_.

He didn’t have a home. He had a _house_. A house he would now have to bury himself in for good because there was _no way_ he was risking facing Primrose Everdeen or her mother. And Thread. The Head Peacekeeper seemed insignificant now, in light of everything else, but… No liquor. There would be no liquor. There would be nothing to use as a rampart against the angry ghosts and the unbearable memories.

And Twelve…

The rich smell of wet earth and woods… The faint traces of coal dust in the air…

He and Chaff walking through a familiar landscape to check snares.

He froze, hand in the air, smirk turning into a twisted thing…

He couldn’t go back to Twelve.

Twelve…

Twelve was part of the arena.

He would be trapped.

Trapped there.

Trapped again.

Trapped…

“I think it is enough.”

He wasn’t sure when Effie had arrived. He hadn’t heard her come in. All he could hear was the clear calls of his name down there.

He let her drag him away, close the window after waving herself, dazzling them, distracting them…

“Are you alright?” Peeta worried. “You’re white as a sheet.”

Effie’s hand was on his arm and he turned to her because she had been by the window a second ago and he knew what that meant. Losing time. He gasped in a gulp of air, unaware that he had been holding his breath.

“Peeta, dear, give us a minute, will you?” Effie hummed gently as if it wasn’t a big deal. She helped him sit on the bed and he never took his eyes away from her. Peeta hesitated but eventually nodded and left the room. “Look at me.” she demanded with that same calm that made him wonder if she had asked someone about how to handle panic attacks or if she had been in that position too many times over the years that she now instinctively knew what to do with unstable victors. “Just focus on me, darling. It will be over in a second.”

A part of him revolted at the patronizing tone.

Most of him was too far gone to care.

He put it out of his mind. Twelve, the arena… He put it out of his mind. One step at a time. One day at a time.

He wasn’t exactly calm yet when the door opened again.

She frowned in displeasure and turned. “Peeta, I told you…”

Her voice trailed off when the boy came in, escorted by two gorillas in Peacekeeper uniforms.

“We have a special guest.” Peeta announced somberly, immediately coming to stand close to them, _in_ _front_ of them. Like a stupid human shield.

Haymitch’s heart stopped when Snow strolled in like he owned the place.

Although, technically, he _did_.

“President Snow!” Effie squealed.

Haymitch couldn’t quite identify the emotions in her voice. Part astonishment, part fear, part… Was that admiration still? For the man she had been taught to worship since youth?

He didn’t pause to analyze his own feelings.

He stood up and pushed both Effie and Peeta behind him, arms stretched wide to make sure they wouldn’t do something stupid like try to get in front of him. His eyes darted from the Peacekeepers’ guns to Snow’s walking stick and, for the first time since he had woken up, he felt _all there_. Mind sharp. Focused. Adrenaline was a miracle worker.

“Good morning, Haymitch.” Snow said with a hint of amusement. “I was in the vicinity, I thought I would come and offer my congratulations.”

“I won.” he spat, his heart beating so fast and hard it seemed to bounce back against his ribs with every breath.

“Hence the congratulations.” the man concurred, waving a hand in the air. The President’s eyes were like a snake’s. When they went past his shoulder to the people behind him…

“No.” he protested, aware that the conversation probably wouldn’t have made sense to anyone else. But he had known Snow for a long time.  He was familiar with his methods. Familiar with… “I went in. That was punishment enough. _I went in._ ”

Snow, to his credit, didn’t pretend not to understand but he had the audacity to almost look _sorry_. “A punishment, _yes_. And had it been anyone else standing in your place, I would have called it quit. _Lesson learned_. But you, Haymitch…”

“I learned it.” he cut him off quickly. “I… The arena was clear enough. I learned it.”

“You were instrumental to this whole… Well, I believe from your point of view one would call it a _fiasco_.” Snow opposed. “ _You_ were never supposed to win, you realize. But you did and now you are twice a Quell victor and making you disappear would be more trouble than you are worth, honestly. So, you see… Punishment has to be given.”

“Give it, then.” Peeta snorted, taking a step forward.

“ _No_.” Haymitch snapped, pushing him back, _relieved_ when Effie took a hint and got in front of the boy too. It was stupid, naturally. _Useless_. But it was how they had agreed to play this from the start: protect the children. At all cost. “I won’t let you touch him. I _won’t_.”

The Peacekeeper on the left shifted. It was subtle. But Haymitch knew when someone was getting ready for a fight.

“Oh, Mr Mellark will walk out of this room with you.” Snow chuckled as if Haymitch was stupid and it was hilarious. “I am a fair man, Haymitch, surely you realize that by now?” He almost burst out laughing at that but the President wasn’t done and he doubted it would have helped. “You and Miss Everdeen were responsible, _he_ played with the cards he was dealt. Of course, there was this mishap in Eleven during the Tour but he didn’t know the rules yet. He adapted magnificently. No… I have no complains about you, Peeta.”

“Katniss…” the boy growled.

“Katniss Everdeen is _dead_.” the President interrupted in a clipped tone. “She had spirits, she could have done great things if she had chosen her side more carefully. I would strongly advise not following in her footsteps.” His voice softened. “I _like_ you. Do not make me regret it.”

Haymitch didn’t glance back to look but at the noise, he knew the boy was trying to get past Effie, to protest…

“You don’t want to kill her.” Haymitch declared before the boy could say something stupid. Because it came down to that really. If Snow was sparing Peeta… “You want me under your thumb. You need a leash. She can be the leash. You keep her alive, you make _sure_ I cooperate.”

He was showing his hand but he was certain the hand had already been tipped anyway. The phone calls, the toasting, the love declarations… He had thought it wouldn’t matter because he was going to die. He had thought…

He had said he loved her and he had meant it as a farewell.

Just not _hers_.

Snow looked almost sympathetic. “I already have a leash for you, Haymitch.” He pointed to Peeta with the end of his walking stick. “You volunteered for the boy, I assume you care for him. And Mr Mellark is blessed with an extended family and many friends. So many people who could take the fall if you do not play the game the regular way…”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to kill her.”

“I wish I could believe that.” the President sighed. “But your pride, Haymitch… It has always been your greatest flaw. You will never learn your place.” Snow’s eyes darted to Effie and back. “Besides, one could question your escort’s loyalties. Truly, it is two birds with one stone.”

“I have _always_ been loyal to the Capitol.” Effie lied through her teeth, clearly hesitating on how to play this. Haymitch had a feeling that if she had had any hope of getting out of it alive, she would already have been in the middle of a dramatic act of tears and pleas. She knew it was hopeless, had already accepted it…

“I am not a monster and you _did_ win that Quell…” Snow hummed. “I will grant you a goodbye. As a reward.”

Effie’s breathing was short and sharp.

Her fingers brushed the back of his hand.

Haymitch pushed her behind him once more, refusing to even _look_ at her.

“I learned the lesson.” he swore. “You don’t need to do this. I learned the lesson. I know my place. I learned the lesson.”

Snow considered him for a long time, looking bored by the whole thing. A façade. Haymitch knew he was enjoying it. The man was probably high on it.

“What is it, then? This lesson you claimed to have learned.” the President hummed.

“I belong to you.” Haymitch muttered.

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t _quite_ catch that.” Snow mocked.

“I belong to you.” he repeated, louder. Too loud. It was like a stab in the chest. He ignored Effie’s soft “ _Haymitch, don’t”_ because there was no point. “ _We_ belong to you. There’s no point trying to escape it. There’s no point trying to…” His voice faltered and he shrugged. “I get it. I won’t cause any more problems. I won’t _ever_ try anything again. I just… Don’t kill her. I _get_ it, I _swear_.”

Something like surprise flashed on the President’s face but it soon morphed into a cruel twist in the corner of his falsely gentle smile. “Why, Haymitch, it seems you _can_ learn after all.”

“I learned my lesson.” he promised. “The Quell was punishment enough. I learned…”

“Kneel.” Snow ordered.

Everything in him rebelled at the thought.

He bristled.

_Your pride, Haymitch… It has always been your greatest flaw_.

And he was right.

“No.” Effie whispered, horrified. “ _Don’t_ …”

It wasn’t that hard in the end. Not if his humiliation was the price for her life.

Bending the first knee was the difficult part. The second, it was almost _easy_.

He needed to prove he had truly and well understood. If he wanted to save her, if he… There was a chance still, he could _see_ it. Snow wouldn’t be able to resist the thought of torturing him further, of dangling her over his head…

“Beg for her life.” the President requested in that same bored tone. As if this was all a ceremonial that he had been through a thousand times before, a _chore_.

Haymitch accepting he was powerless.

That was what it was all about.

“Please.” he pleaded. He felt empty kneeling there, in front of a man he hated more than he had ever hated anything or anyone else, stripped of his pride and dignity, certain there was _nothing_ he wouldn’t have done at that moment to secure Effie’s survival. Emptier than when he had woken up. Emptier than he had ever been. “I’ll do anything. I’ll play the game. I’ll… Anything. I’ll do anything.”

He met Snow’s eyes, what he was leaving out clear in his gaze. He would jump through every hoop and pretend to like it. He would be an exemplary victor. He would go to events and pretend to enjoy it, he would sing Snow’s and the Capitol’s praises in the Districts, if anyone was stupid enough to want to buy him he would lie down and let them do whatever they pleased because…

Because all of that was worth Effie’s life.

All of it.

“I lost.” he admitted slowly, his voice rough. The more he begged, the easier it went. He wondered if there was relief to be found in giving up, some sort of comfort in pleading for mercy, some sort of peace in accepting defeat. “I lost. You won. I’m sorry I was even stupid enough to try. I lost. _Please_. Don’t take her away from me. Please.”

He bowed his head, numb once more, _hollow_ … He stared at the floor and waited for the sentence.

It felt to him as if everyone was holding their breath.

Snow was standing there, staring down at him thoughtfully, twisting his walking stick this way and that…

“One toe out of line and she will pay the price.” the President declared eventually. “Do _not_ disappoint me, Haymitch. If you make me regret my leniency, Miss Trinket _will_ suffer the consequences and they _won’t_ be pretty.”

There were two sighs of relief behind him.

Haymitch was staring at Snow’s shoes wondering who even wore buckles on them, if it was in fashion and if Effie would inevitably try to convince him to wear some eventually.

The shoes were almost at the door, framed by the Peacekeepers’ boots, when he found his voice again.

“Can I stay?”

The question took everyone aback, including himself.

The shoes stopped, the shiny buckles catching the light for a second.

“Stay.” Snow repeated, a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

“In the city.” he clarified, the thought solidifying in his mind. He couldn’t go back to Twelve. He _couldn’t_. It would be like living in the arena. It would be… No, he _couldn’t_. Not anymore. The Capitol was the lesser of two evils. Most of the Careers chose to reside in the city at least the first few years after their victory. It wasn’t unheard of for a victor to prefer the Capitol to their own District. Travel was limited, there was no coming and going every day or on a whim but… Staying in the city for months on end wasn’t unheard of. As an afterthought, he added: “Please.”

How easily one took to begging…

He wasn’t sure Snow had been expecting that kind of request but the President took it in stride. “If you are ready to shoulder the obligations that come with such a choice.”

Parties and events and public apparitions and probably whoring himself out too… But he would have Effie full time.

In Twelve, he would simply have the feeling of being forever trapped in the arena, rotting away in his house without any booze to keep the edge off, unable to face anyone. He didn’t give himself two weeks before he did something stupid.

Was it even a choice?

“Yes.” he accepted simply, with the feeling of selling his soul to the devil. Except the devil already owned his soul, didn’t he? That was the whole point of that lesson he had needed to learn.

The shoes didn’t move.

He had the feeling he was supposed to look up but he felt so… _meek_. _Weak_. _Ashamed._ The most mortifying was that both Peeta and Effie had witnessed his humiliation. But that too was part of the lesson, he figured.

“I have no objection to your affair with Miss Trinket going public.” Snow declared, in a tone that suggested he was doing them a favor. “This being said, concubinage is all I am prepared to accept. This ring on your finger will never have _any_ official value and will _never_ be acknowledged, Miss Trinket, am I clear?” 

“Crystal, Sir.” Effie answered after clearing her throat.

“Keep him in line, my dear.” President Snow concluded almost with affection. A fake, horrible fondness that made Haymitch taste bile. “I will see you all tomorrow at the Crowning.”

The shoes left the room and the door was shut after the second Peacekeeper.

Silence could be deafening.

It lasted forever in the space of ten seconds.

Then, stubborn hands pulled him up to his feet.

He wouldn’t meet Effie’s eyes but she framed his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. He felt his face burn red with _shame_ but before he could say anything, shove her away or snap, she was kissing him.

They hadn’t kissed yet. Not since what he had thought to be their last.

He remained unresponsive at first but her lips had always possessed that gift for drawing him in and instead of pushing her away, he tugged her closer, forcing his tongue in her mouth… He only remembered Peeta too late, once their lips parted with an audible sound that, he was sure, made the boy even more uncomfortable.

He glanced at the kid, struck by the enormity of what had just happened.

The boy looked betrayed, hurt, _angry_. Everything he had expected after Katniss’ death.

He wasn’t _that_ surprised when Peeta stormed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise a special guest, didn't I? This was actualy the idea that inspired the whole story (and it only took me 36 chapters to get there so, you know, kudos to me). Did you like Snow's intervention? Haymitch surely didn't. Were you surprised he was willing to go that far for his family? What do you think about him wanting to stay in the Capitol? And were you surprised Snow was good with hayffie making it official? Is it hiding something? Do you understand why Peeta is mad now? So many things happening in this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts please!


	37. The Worst Word

The roof was the same and yet something felt off.

_Everything_ felt off, really.

He had lasted five minutes in the penthouse, time enough to check that the bar cart was still liquor free. The familiarity of the place felt displaced. The same but different. Difficult to explain, impossible to apprehend and _fucking_ terrifying.

His heart was still missing a beat now and then before racing to catch up, consequence of Snow’s visit. It might have been easier if Peeta hadn’t remained locked in his room. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. Being confronted to the boy and his failed broken promise didn’t do anything for him but knowing the boy was in pain because of him…

His train of thoughts came to a stop when the door opened and he looked up from where he was sitting with his back against the low wall. Effie’s face was a blank mask of content happiness that he knew better than to believe, he looked away before she could make eye contact, fighting against a new wave of shame.

Snow might as well have cut his balls and made him eat them in front of her.

_Fucking_ bruised pride.

It should have been the last of his worries but going head to head with the President had made him annoyingly clear-headed.

“How are you?” she asked, glancing over the wall at the Capitol beneath. He didn’t know how he felt about the surrounding noises of cars engines, horns, people talking, walking, _breathing_ … On one hand, it was an aggression. On the other, it drowned his thoughts and that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Peachy.” he muttered, bumping his head against the wall once, as if to better convince himself.

“Haymitch.” she rebuked. A reminder that they were alone and he didn’t need to pretend, he figured.

He closed his eyes, forcing a fake levity to his voice. “Like I was tossed in a locked room with a bunch of friends I was forced to murder?”

It fell flat. So flat.

He swallowed hard, not looking when she lowered herself to the ground next to him in a puff of pink fabric. He felt her hand on his arm, light, and he made a conscious effort not to flinch or shrug it off. He felt wary of people violating his personal space. He felt… On edge. And he wanted a weapon, _his_ weapon but the thought of asking for the knife that had killed _Chaff_ …

He let out a small sigh. “You know, sweetheart, I can’t believe you didn’t make sure the bar would be stocked. Expected better of you.”

It wasn’t exactly a joke, more of a warning. He wasn’t remaining sober. Not if he could help it.

She snorted, a touch bitter but not quite surprised. “I need you sharp a little while longer.”

“I guess.” he sighed again. He felt her wriggle next to him and he opened his eyes to see her pull out a battered cigarette packet and a lighter from very well hidden pockets. The lighter wasn’t the silver one Finnick had gifted her with but a cheap plastic white one branded with the logo of a popular club downtown. He didn’t ask why the change. He could guess. He snatched a cigarette from the packet without waiting to be offered. If he couldn’t drink, he would take what he could get. “How many of those did you smoke while I was gone?”

She let out a chuckle and lit his cigarette before doing the same for the one she had wedged between her red painted lips. She took a drag and blew out the smoke slowly before giving him a small shrug. “Enough that we can stop pretending it is simply stress-smoking, I suppose.” She waved the lighter dismissively. “I will quit again. Eventually.”

He breathed in the smell of cigarette, letting it invade everything. It was better than imagining coal dust or remembering pure outdoor air. The city might be just what he needed after all. Polluted air that nobody would have accused of being _fresh_ … No risk of confusing his surroundings for an arena.

He stared at the red glow of the cigarette as it consumed itself between his quivering fingers.

“How’s the boy doing?” he asked after a few minutes.

She took her sweet time answering that, debating what to say and what to keep silent to spare his feelings.

“Right now, he is upset.” she said slowly. “He had not realized… He never thought you would not want to go back to Twelve. I do not think he truly thought about the… _nature_ of the arena.”

“Did you?” he retorted. It surprised him a little that she seemed to have grasped the problem before he had even voiced it. But, then again, it wasn’t her first rodeo either.

“As soon as they unveiled it.” she confessed, taking a nervous drag. Her fingers weren’t that steady either. “I heard through the grapevine this particular arena was a last minute decision. It was in the work somewhere, of course, it takes years to build them as you know, but… They had another one in mind for the Quell until a few months ago. Perhaps there were some malfunctions…”

“Sure.” he scoffed. “ _Malfunctions_.” Or the possibility that Heavensbee had babbled about it to the rebels – or to some victors. “Sent a clear message though, yeah?”

“Rather, yes. For those of us who knew how to read between the lines, at least. And I suppose the Districts saw it clearly for what it was too.” she admitted. “This Quell was a hit. The ratings have never been higher.”

“Awesome.” he deadpanned, flicking ashes away. “I’m guessing I wasn’t the popular choice, though.”

“You would be mistaken, then.” she countered carefully. “Cashmere was the clear favorite on the betting boards but… After Katniss… People were rooting for you.”

It made it worse somehow.

“How much do they want a piece of our asses?” Those were important questions, he told himself. Those were the questions he would need the answers to if he wanted to play the game. The red glow of the cigarette was coming dangerously close to his skin but he brought it to his lips anyway, not quite sure if he wanted to get burned or if he was desperate for the reassuring pattern smoking involved: bring it to his mouth, breathe in, take it away, breathe out, flick ash, repeat. No room for intrusive memories.

Effie crushed the bud of her own cigarette against the ground and then tossed it away. “For now, Peeta is safe because of Katniss but I would advise on sending him back to Twelve as soon as possible. He is grieving, we can use that excuse.”

He nodded once to show his approbation of this plan. Sending the boy away would solve more than one problem. He wouldn’t have to face his failure every day for starter. “And us?”

They had been lucky the previous year because anyone with common sense had put two and two together, had realized it equaled _poisonous berries_ and hadn’t really tried to grab anyone from the winning team. They wouldn’t be that lucky this time around, he suspected. Effie would be the escort of the season and he was the current victor. They were both attractive enough. The conclusion wasn’t a leap.

“I won’t be an escort much longer. I can navigate through that.” she hummed. “You… Well, victors your age are usually solicited for the whole package. They want the pretence of a romance not just sex… If _we_ came out… It would go a long way into removing both of us from the playing field.”

Her voice was tentative. It wasn’t difficult to understand _why_. He had never reacted well to any mention of their relationship before the morning of the Quell’s Reaping, before he had thought… She was wary and she had reasons to be, he figured.

“We need to go public.” he stated, crushing the bud of his cigarette under his boot. “Snow’s counting on it now.”

She frowned. “I fail to see…”

“Oh, come on, Princess.” he scowled. “A victor and an escort falling in love? It shows the Districts you’re not all that bad, that there’s good there… Why do you think he was so ready to let me stay?” Besides the fact it was smarter to keep Haymitch close where he could watch him. He shook his head. “Never mind _me_ being in love with an escort. I _fucking_ won two Quells. I’m the _fucking_ Districts' _champion_.”

All that talk of being in love made something flash on her face, something like awe and longing, but it was gone under a well crafted mask of blankness before he could try to analyze it.

“He was very clear about our marriage being…” she argued.

“Yeah, let’s never talk about what happened earlier _ever_ again, okay?” he cut her off, getting to his feet with less grace than he would have liked. He paced the length of the roof, wrapping his good arm around his aching chest. “Marriage is something else. It’s too much. It sets a precedent he doesn’t want. I don’t have the same rights you do. I’m a victor, yeah, but legally that’s still a far shot from a Capitol citizen. Being together is one thing… Good for country unity… Advertising us as equal… Totally another, Princess.”

He paced back and forth. From the edge of the roof to the door. Again and again, finding some comfort in the repetitive pattern. Wasn’t that the first sign of insanity or something?

“It is more than I ever expected.” she whispered.

He kept on pacing, licking his lips.

It was more than he had ever expected too. They had gone from the best they could get being a few weeks a year to the possibility of a life together.

He thought it was a trap, a life insurance.

Because once he got that life, they would have to pry it away from his cold dead hands.

“You can still back out.” he offered.

He couldn’t do any of it alone, that much was clear to him, but he wouldn’t condemn her to share his prison. She could come willingly or…

“Are you moving in with me or are you staying in the penthouse?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. “Nobody said you had to stay in the penthouse and if we _do_ come out as a couple, there is no reason to expect you wouldn’t live with me. Brutus was renting a flat when he spent months in the city… It isn’t unprecedented for a victor not to reside at the Center. We _should_ be living together, I think. We have been sleeping together for so long… I am ready for the next step. Aren’t you?”

She sounded so serious, it stopped his frantic pacing. He stood there, one arm around his chest, the other hanging limply by his side, watching the small crease between her eyebrows that meant she was deep in thought.

“My apartment is big enough, I suppose… Although perhaps we should look for something a little roomier in time. There are _darling_ houses on the market near Main Square…” she hummed. “My father might even own a few, who knows… He is always buying and selling properties… I shall ask. And…”

“Snow threatened to kill you and you want to go house hunting?” he spat, cutting her off. She looked up at him, startled by the words.

“I thought we just agreed to never talk about it again?” she winced. She fished another cigarette and lit it, betraying just how unsettled on the issue she really was.

Haymitch’s hands were shaking _badly_ and he bundled the one she could see in a fist.

“He wants to kill you. Because of _me_.” he growled. “Because I…”

His voice trailed off.

“Because you love me.” she supplied calmly. The only tell of nervousness was her trembling fingers when she brought the cigarette to her lips. “It had nothing to do with what happened before the Quell, you realize. Everyone in the business knows we are lovers. It was only a matter of time… It is as much my fault as yours.”

“He was going to kill you…” he said again and it sounded almost pleading. He didn’t know what he was begging her for. Common sense? For her to run and not look back because he would end up getting her murdered and it was more than he could bear? “He was going to…”

“You stopped him.” she said softly.

His cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment and he turned away from her, walked straight to the wall and rested his elbows on the edge, wondering what it would be like to fall down, to… He closed his eyes. Not like it was even a possibility with the force field in place…

The mix of tobacco and perfume reached his nose before he felt her presence at his back. He flinched when she placed her hand on his shoulder and he wondered if that instinctive reaction would ever stop, tried to remember when it _had_ stopped last time…

“You do not want to talk about earlier because you thought it was weak, that _you_ were weak…” she whispered and he bodily shuddered in mortification. Give him a good lashing on a public square every day rather than this. At least he could still somehow get out of it with his dignity intact, with… She pressed herself against his back, not hard enough that he felt trapped, just enough that he could feel her warmth… “I thought I never saw you _stronger_.” He scoffed at that but she didn’t let herself be distracted. “What you did… What he made you do… It was meant to be humiliating and I understand why you feel that way, I do… But Haymitch… How can I find it anything but strong when you accepted it for _me_? When you went through that for _me_?”

He took a few deep breaths, doubting he would ever see it that way.

“Seems like I do a lot of stupid _shit_ for you.” he muttered.

And that wasn’t _him_. He wasn’t the fool who did stuff out of love. He wasn’t the hero in those romance stories she liked so much who ended up defying the odds just so he could get the hot smut scene at the end of the book. He wasn’t the guy who risked it all for the girl. _Was he?_

“I really wanted Katniss to win.” he said just to hear it out loud, just to remind them that this hadn’t been the plan and that no part of them, _none at all_ , should be happy at the perspective of being granted a life together. It wasn’t _right_.

“We all did, darling.” she promised. She leaned a little more against him, seeking comfort maybe. “We couldn’t do anything… When it happened… We knew what Johanna was planning and we couldn’t do anything… There was some money left and Peeta kept telling me we should send something, find a way to warn you, but I knew… I knew it would be too late. I knew by the time we contacted the Gamemakers and requested a parachute… I _knew_ we had lost. It was one of _those times_ , you know?”

“Yeah.” he sighed.

After a few Games… There were _patterns_. Victors with a sound brain and a few of the escorts eventually became experts in the art of predicting what would happen in which time frame. And, he figured, _everyone_ who had been involved in the Games for long enough knew _those moments_ when they came: the moment of clarity when you realized that, as a mentor, as someone sitting outside the arena, you were powerless to help the tribute about to meet his death on the screen. And there was nothing but grim acceptance in those moments because there was nothing else to do but watch and admit that you had lost.

“Johanna pushed the tree, it went down, Katniss screamed, you tried to step aside…” she whispered. “It is all so clear in my mind… I couldn’t watch the live feed, I could only stare at your monitor, at your heartbeat, at…” She took a deep breath. “You didn’t die and my heart soared and then… Then I realized Peeta had gone white, I realized Katniss’ monitor had shut down…” She shook her head. “I didn’t even reach for him. I couldn’t. You attacked Johanna and…”

“And I beat her to death?” he finished, feeling sick to the stomach at the memories her words were bringing back. He didn’t want to face those memories. He didn’t want to think about… He glanced down at his right hand, not surprised to see a fist but surprised that it was free of blood. Not even a scratch on his knuckles. The doctors had seen to that.

Effie sneaked an arm around his waist, buried her face between his shoulder blades. “I have never been as grateful to Chaff as I was when he came for you. I… I feel _so_ sorry for all I said to him, about him, all those years…”

“Chaff was an idiot.” he snapped, pain and anger mixing in his voice. He wanted to shrug her off and storm out, _away_ , but he was rooted to the spot. It was a curious paradox: the need to be alone to lick his wounds battling with the desperate craving he felt for her. He bowed, letting his shoulders slouch under the weight of it all. “He rigged it, you know. He let me win. _Idiot_. _Fucking_ idiot…” He shook his head, unable to keep the edge off his voice, unable to _bear_ it even as her arm tightened around him as if to _anchor_ him. “What did he do it for? He had a sister, people… Why would he go and…”

His voice broke and he left that sentence unfinished.

It was a long time before she ventured a guess, sounding far too knowing for someone who had never seen eye to eye with his best friend. “He knew he was dying.”

“ _Bullshit_.” he snarled. “All he had to do was _win_. They’d have fixed him. The _fuck_ did he have to go and make _me_ win for?”

She was _very_ careful when she spoke next. “Has it occurred to you… What Katniss was to you, what Finnick was to Mags… Has it occurred to you that you were that to Chaff?”

“Don’t be _stupid_.” he sneered.

“Am I being stupid?” she hummed. “He was your mentor, wasn’t he? Perhaps not officially but… You told me enough times that you felt you owed him. He was very protective of you… Why, I lost count of all the lectures he gave me.”

“Lectures?” he frowned.

“He thought I would break your heart.” she sighed. “Either by ending up dead or by leaving you. I never wanted to listen.”

He snorted because he could perfectly imagine it. Chaff trying to threaten her into being sensible…

“Never did either.” he admitted, covering her hand with his. And he couldn’t say he regretted it. Not really. He rubbed his face with his free hand. “I’m tired.”

“You should rest, take a nap.” she suggested gently. “Mr Harwyn and Maya are coming to dinner tonight. It will be nice to have the whole team together before the Crowning, won’t it?”

“Almost the whole team.” he corrected absent-mindedly.

“Yes.” she lamented. “Almost.”

Almost was the worst word that ever was, he decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy the roof time? Next time we will have an awkward dinner and more if we hit it off ;)


	38. A Match Made In Hell

Water poured hard on his shoulders, doing nothing to relieve the ache in his muscles. Haymitch regularly brought his hands to his face to wipe it, then mechanically reached for the bottle of shower gel - that was now almost empty - to cover his body with it, then he let the water rinse it and stared at the wall for a while. And then he did it all over again.

Foam was pooling around his ankles. The smell of the shower gel was battling with the lemon perfumed water. He had upped the setting as much as he had dared. It was like bathing in a pitcher of lemonade but it was alright with him. The smell covered everything and that was what he had been after.

He wished he had a bar of soap to rub his skin with. The shower gel didn’t make him feel clean enough.

He didn’t know how long he had been there.

He had followed Effie back down to the penthouse, had obeyed when she had sent him to take a nap… His flask and the picture of his family had been waiting for him on the neatly made bed and he hadn’t found the strength to move them away. It had been tempting to just collapse there and give in to the exhaustion he felt but he had suddenly realized he could wash by himself now. The nurses hadn’t allowed him more than perfunctory short showers with the bathroom door open and someone on watch.

He had felt so dirty suddenly…

He had scrapped at every portion of skin he could remember being covered in someone’s blood at one point or another. It hadn’t really helped. Not even when he had carefully cleaned his fingernails with enough thoroughness to make Effie proud. Some of his fingers were bleeding now. He had chipped a couple of nails. But at least they were clean of dried blood and skin and _whatever._

The anxious knock on the bathroom door startled him and he twisted around too brutally for his bruised ribcage. Effie didn’t wait for his permission to come in, fighting an instinctive recoil when she stepped in the cloud of steam.

“Haymitch!” she exclaimed with obvious concern. Before he knew what was going on, she had reached in and had turned the water off.

“No, wait…” he mumbled. “I need…”

He made a grasp for the bottle of shower gel but her fingers coiled around his wrist, surprisingly strong.

“No, you don’t.” she countered. “You are perfectly clean. Come on.”

He let her coax him out, too tired to protest when she grabbed a towel and dragged him to the bedroom where it was easier to breathe, clicking her tongue all the while. He didn’t understand what her problem was until he caught sight of himself in the mirrors screwed to the wardrobe’s doors. 

His skin was red, _burned_. She patted it with the towel rather than rub it dry. He didn’t really feel the pain, it was… _muted_. The only thing that hurt was his ribcage. The newly closed scar on his collarbone throbbed a little too but it was bearable.

“Let’s get you ready for dinner.” she said once she had toweled his hair. She sounded upset.

“Already?” he mumbled.

Dinner was supposed to be hours away. Dinner…

“Yes.” she sighed. “Already.”

His eyes darted to the clock and he realized hours had passed. She didn’t need to ask if he had been in the shower since she had sent him to rest. The bed was still made and the skin of his fingers was creased.

He waited for her to comment on his obvious unstable mental state but she remained silent, selecting an outfit and laying it on the bed for him. He didn’t have the energy to argue with her. He slipped on everything she wanted him to wear, even the tie.

She knotted it with a lot more concentration than he knew the act required. Her jaw was clenched.

He brushed hesitant fingers against her cheek. “You’re angry with me?”

He didn’t quite care, that was the thing. He _wanted to_ but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. He felt as if he had exhausted his amount of caring for the day. She was alive and that was the main thing, the only thing that mattered. Her mood… Her mood was an unimportant side issue, right then.

“With you?” she frowned, glancing up at him. “Of course not. Not with _you_ , no.” She finished her knotting with a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “There you go. How _dashing_.”

She didn’t clarify who she was angry with and he didn’t ask. He followed her to the living-room on autopilot. It was like his head was full of cotton again and he couldn’t tell if it was the long hot shower that had reduced him to that state or if he was just that emotionally tired. Peeta and the stylists were already sitting, sharing drinks. He perked up at the sight of the cocktail glasses but Effie hurried in specifying they were liquor free. Hopes crushed, he barely nodded at the congratulations he received and sat down on an armchair.

Peeta wasn’t looking at him.

He wasn’t looking at Peeta.

Neither of them made a great effort to talk to anyone else.

The Capitols more than made up for it. Their chatter was a constant buzz in his ears but the words eluded him. He couldn’t have repeated anything that was said in the living-room or the dining room.

Harwyn’s eyes were on him, attentive, but Haymitch really couldn’t care less what the old man was thinking. A few questions were directed his way and he managed monosyllabic answers but was more than happy to let Effie take the lead.

It was clearly a celebratory dinner meant for him. All his favorite dishes were served and she seemed disappointed when he barely touched his plate. He ate enough to calm his churning stomach but he wasn’t really hungry and he didn’t feel like forcing himself. His eyes kept darting to the spot Katniss usually occupied. The chair had been left empty. He didn’t know if it was better or worse. Peeta, too, was glancing at it every two seconds.

Harwyn and his assistant didn’t linger long after dessert. It would be an early morning the next day and everyone needed their rest. Effie walked them back to the elevator, Peeta wandered away… Haymitch stared at his half-eaten cake. The Avox girl uncertainly hovered next to him and he watched her for a whole minute, unnerving her even more, before realizing she wasn’t sure if she could take his plate away. He handed it to her and rubbed his face. _Not the creepy guy at all_.

The familiar clicking of heels came closer and he looked up to see Effie leaning against the doorframe. They studied each other in silence. Her face was blank but there was worry under the mask. He made an effort to stand up before she could remind him he couldn’t stay there all night.

“Peeta is in the living-room if you…” she tried.

“No.” he cut her off, shaking his head. He couldn’t do that right now. He _really_ couldn’t.

She sighed but dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “I will check on him and join you in a minute.”

He glanced at the Avox girl who took the hint and made herself scarce. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, not meeting Effie’s eyes. “Not sure… Look… It’d be better if we slept in our own rooms tonight.”

She immediately shook her head. “I am not letting you out of my sight.”

“I’m dangerous.” he said plainly, a touch of fury in his voice.

“No more than usual. I know how to handle your night terrors.” she countered stubbornly. Her eyes narrowed. “I do not care if I have to sleep on the floor I _will_ stay with you tonight.”

He didn’t have the energy for that.

He should have insisted.

He should have insisted but he was tired and after what had happened that afternoon he didn’t like the idea of letting  her out of his sight either. What if it was just a cruel trick? What if Snow had only _pretended_ to spare her only to take her away when he thought it safe?

His mind flashed to the white rose on its bed of ashes so long ago…

“Fine.” he surrendered in an irritated grumble, pushing past her and into the corridor.

He went to her room by reflex because that was where they had slept ever since the Reaping. He was surprised to see that the traces of his stay hadn’t yet been obliterated. She was usually fussy, liked everything to be in its proper place and kept her room religiously clean yet his woolen dressing gown was still where he had tossed it the night before the launch, his book was abandoned on the nightstand and his sweatpants had been folded on top of the dresser, seemingly waiting for him to come back.

Last time he had been in there, he had told her he loved her. Last time he had been in there, he had been leaving to his death. Last time…

He shook his head and forced himself into action. He removed his shoes and kicked them in the corner, peeled off his socks… He fought with the tie but eventually managed to loosen it enough to pass it over his head and drop it on the floor. The waistcoat’s buttons were tiny nacre things that wouldn’t cooperate. He was still struggling with them when Effie slipped inside the room, pursing her lips when she spotted the dirty socks and the tie on a heap on the floor.

She rescued him from the recalcitrant clothes though and for that he was grateful. She tossed the waistcoat on the bed and made a quick job of unbuttoning his shirt, slowly pushing it off his shoulders.

Her palms travelled over the planes of his chest in an unvoiced question. When he didn’t protest, she leaned in to press a kiss on the new scar Cashmere had left. Her mouth didn’t linger, it traveled up to his neck, her hands moved down, so gentle over the bruised areas…

Her fingers opened his belt but he was too distracted by the things her tongue and teeth were doing to his neck to notice. It was the sound of his fly being unzipped that brought him out of his trance. He caught her wrists, not quite sure why he was stopping her.

“Need a shower.” he mumbled.

She drew back, batting her eyelashes in confusion. “No, you don’t.”

Yes, he did. Badly.

“Come on. You’re always saying I’ve got no proper hygiene.” he joked it off, detaching himself from her. “Should be happy.”

She followed him to the bathroom and leaned against the sink when he quickly kicked off his pants and stepped in the stall. Her shower was programmed for flowery perfumed water, not his favorite choice but he went ahead with it anyway, knowing she would get annoyed if he tinkered with her settings – it wouldn’t have stopped him usually but he really didn’t want an argument right then.

He focused on rubbing her fancy shower gel on himself, his back resolutely turned on her. He lost track anyway. He obsessed over covering his right hand in soap, unable to stop picturing Johanna’s dried blood, his scraped knuckles and Chaff’s blood soaking the dirty bandage…

He flinched when he felt Effie’s body at his back, crashing back to reality with a sharp intake of breath. Her breasts brushed against his arm when she walked around to face him, blond hair already damp, bared face earnest… So _fucking_ beautiful it should have been forbidden…

“How can I help?” she asked, gently forcing him to let go of his right hand, entwining their fingers… He shook his head because he didn’t know. He just wanted to feel _clean_. He just wanted… Her lips brushed against his, coaxing his mouth open. She was in total control of the kiss, he was just following her lead. “This?” she whispered before kissing him again, _deeper_. “Would this help?”

It had always helped before. When booze wasn’t available to be used as a distraction, sex was the next best thing. His hands hovered over her hips, hesitant.

“I’m not sure I can control myself.” he confessed. He was wary of letting a primitive part of him out to play. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea so soon after the Games. There was a beast inside him. There was…

Her lips retraced the length of his jaw, her tongue poking out to lick his stubble until she reached his ear. She sucked the earlobe in her mouth and it tugged at something in his groin. He groaned, his fingers grabbing her hips in an instinctive response.

“You can use me.” she whispered in his ear, in a husky voice that had him closing his eyes. “Abuse me. Do whatever you want to me. I am yours.”

His fingers dug in her flesh and it took all he had in him not to just surrender to that tacit permission.

“Effie.” he begged.

“I am not leaving.” she replied. “I am not fleeing. I am not _scared_. Not of President Snow’s threats and certainly not of _you_.”

“Stupid.” he commented through gritted teeth because one of her hands was going down his back and it wasn’t long before she groped him. And the other one… Oh, the other one… She was drawing infinity symbols on his lower stomach, slowly inching closer and closer to where he was already twitching, avid for her touch…

“Don’t hold back. I can handle it. I trust you.” she demanded.

Suddenly, her teeth sank in his neck, hard enough to bring pain and no pleasure. He hissed, automatically answering the perceived threat for what it was. He slammed her against the wall of the shower hard enough that the glass rattled and that she let out a loud _huff_. He didn’t care. He wrapped his hand around her throat with a growl.

“Not clever.” he spat.

“Let it out.” she challenged, her eyes dark.

He squeezed her throat and her fingers immediately coiled around his wrist. She hated being choked. Tough luck. He was pissed now. Really, _really_ pissed. He didn’t know where the anger was coming from. It hadn’t been there a minute ago. A minute ago he had been empty. But now…

“Touch me.” he ordered.

She licked her lips and his eyes darted to her mouth, toying with the idea of _fucking_ it just for the hell of it… But she had just bitten him and he wasn’t about to put his most vulnerable area in something that liked to use its teeth.

He tightened his grip on her throat when she just stood there and glared. It was a pretend glare mostly, he figured, she was giving him what she thought he needed: control. He had said he had been scared of losing control of himself but maybe it had just been what he had craved. Being in charge. Someone at his complete mercy.

“Don’t make me tell you again.” he warned.

One of her hands let go of his wrist with obvious reluctance to wrap around his dick. He was half-hard already, aroused by the simple bout of violence, aroused by the fact he had the power… A few expert tugs were enough to make him throb. He hissed when she ran her nail on the pulsing vein along his length, he instinctively squeezed her throat…

She let go of him to grab his wrist again with a squeaking sound.

Her face was flushed. He knew that between his choking grip and the water pouring on her face, breathing was a little difficult for her. He forced his fingers to relax slightly, leaning in to force a kiss on her lips. She responded to it eagerly, let it lull herself into a false sense of safety…

She wasn’t expecting him to grab her thigh with his free hand. She was too slow in understanding what he wanted and in hooking it up around his hip. The slap on her leg was less than playful. The sound of his hand hitting wet flesh seemed to echo and she yelped into the kiss. He liked the sound so he forced her leg up until she got the drift and wrapped it around his waist, flushing their bodies close together, and then he did it again.

He lost count of the number of times he spanked her ass, spurred on by the sounds she was making – a mix of pained whines and turned on gasps. He wasn’t as careful as he should have been, a part of him knew, but, mostly, he didn’t _care_. He wanted someone to hurt just how much as _he_ was hurting inside.

“You’re a slut.” he accused in her ear. “Only a slut could get off on something like this.” His forearm was neatly nested between her breasts, her own were wedged between their chests because she was still gripping his wrist. His hold on her throat had loosened and he squeezed a little again, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You like this. Me hurting you. You _crave_ it. You poke and you poke until I lose control just ‘cause you get wet for _this_. You’re a _fucking_ slut. You’re screwed up to want me. You get that, yeah? I’m gonna get you killed and, there you are, begging me to _fuck_ you… You’re _screwed up_.”

Her legs twitched with his last slap and he stilled his hand on her ass. Her skin was burning to the touch and she was shivering. Her eyes were on the teary side.

It was twisted even for them. They had never shied away from rough but this was something else, this was _dark, raw_.

“Say it.” he demanded, loosening his grip on her throat enough that she could talk.

“I’m a slut.” she repeated dutifully, her voice a bit hoarse. “I’m a slut for this and it’s screwed up. _Everything_ is screwed up.”

He searched her eyes for… He wasn’t sure. Maybe a part of him – the _sane_ part – was looking for the slightest hint that it was going too far.

“I’m gonna _fuck_ you.” he told her calmly.

“Yes, please.” she rasped out in answer, her hips bulking.

He propped her chin up with his thumb, uncoiling his other fingers from her throat to replace them with his lips. It would bruise. The shapes of his fingers were clear on her pale creamy skin. He licked the rivulets of water, letting his hand travel down from her shoulder to her breast… Kneading it, rubbing the wet skin… Her hips kept buckling but he had a firm grip on her leg and he forced her away each time, denying her the friction she craved. When he heard her breathing become quicker, fast pants that were growing desperate, he twisted her nipple without warning.

She cried out.

Her spine arched, her neck strained and then her head flopped on his shoulder and she was trembling all over. He had never made her come without touching her between her legs before, hadn’t even known it was possible.

“I’m not done with you.” he warned.

He felt her nod. She managed to free her arms from between their chests and wrapped them around his neck. It was too tender an embrace. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to make her hurt. He wanted…

She was boneless. Her leg was slowly slipping off his waist.

He grabbed her other one and lifted her up without warning, almost losing his footing. She was the one who saved them both by reaching out a hand against the glass wall to prevent a fall. Her heart was beating fast again now though, the adrenaline rush enough to reach her through her afterglow.

He didn’t give her time to reconsider, he thrust inside her. Hard.

She was so wet though… She arched her back again, all pleasure…

Her dropped her to her feet and she looked up at him, confused. She relaxed when he pushed on her shoulder, forced her to drop to her knees… She reached for the back of thighs, her lips already eagerly parting….

“Turn around.” he told her.

She frowned and studied him for a second before complying with his request. She shivered when he kneeled down behind her and gasped when he tangled his fingers in her hair and forced her upper body down.

This was _better_.

It was still slippery and she looked less than happy to have her head forced against the tiles of the shower. Water was pooling too and she struggled a little against his grip, fighting an instinctive fear of drowning. Not that he would let her. But he enjoyed her discomfort. He enjoyed watching her swallow some water only to cough and fight him to be allowed to stretch her neck and gulp air.

“Beg me.” he ordered, pulling on her hair enough that she wouldn’t have any issue with water.

“Fuck me.” she said without any hesitation whatsoever. “Please, Haymitch… I need you to fuck me… I’m a slut… I’m your slut… I need you… I need…”

It was more than enough. He forced her head back down and thrust into her again, not giving her time to adjust. He pounded into her hard, keeping a punishing pace, urged on by the arousing sound of flesh slapping against flesh…

Her ass was unevenly bruised now and it didn’t seem right somehow so he spanked the other side for the sole pleasure of watching her body shudder… She was clenching harder and harder around him and he wasn’t surprised when she came again, was ready to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally swallow too much water during her climax… It literally went down the drain when his own release washed over him.

He spilled into her and his hips kept on rocking even as he collapsed a little on her back… It was almost a minute before he stopped thrusting into her, almost a minute before he moved back to sit with his back against the wall, stunned, leaving her to straighten too.

She did.

And then she winced and sat up on her knees instead, careful not to rest her weight on her ass.

His eyes fell on her throat first, then it travelled down to the reddish skin on the back of her thigh. He rested his elbows on his knees and grabbed his head, the taste of disgust so potent in his mouth he almost threw up.

“Haymitch…” she called softly. He curled up further in answer, flinching away from her gaze. She sighed and quickly washed herself before reaching up to turn the water off. And then she was there, right in front of him, refusing to be ignored. “Look at me.”

“Rather not.” he muttered.

He felt empty again, his anger gone the moment he had gotten off. Only the lingering shame was left. From that afternoon with Snow. From what he had done in the arena. From the way he had treated her just now…

It wasn’t that they never had played twisted games or talked dirty to each other but… He had never really _intended_ to hurt her before, he had never taken pleasure in it… A few spanks here and there weren’t the same as slapping her flesh until it marked or squeezing her throat until she couldn’t breathe… Or forcing her head down in a puddle of water…

“I am fine.” she sighed again with some impatience.

He didn’t listen.

Maybe that was who he was now.

The man who got turned on by hurting other people. The man who beat someone to death. The man who rejoiced in slitting someone’s throat.

“I’m broken.” he whispered.

He had been shattered to pieces before, after his first Games, but he had patched himself up with booze and resentment… The Quell had torn apart the thin scar tissue that had started to form. He was back where he had started. In pieces.

He _must_ have been broken.

If he had been right in the head, he would never have gone on after Katniss, he would never had tasted victory once Enobaria’s cannon had boomed, he would never have begged _Snow_ for anything, he would never have hurt _Effie_ … He…

“Listen to me.” she said firmly. Her hands pushed his away, forced him to lift his head, to look at her. He averted his gaze but she gave him a not so gentle shake. “ _Listen to me_.” He reluctantly met her eyes and she nervously licked her lips. “You are not broken and we _will_ survive this. It is still… It is still _raw_ , Haymitch, I understand. It was terrible to watch, I cannot imagine having to actually _live through_ it. But this will pass. It _has_ to pass. We have to be at the top of our game. We lost Katniss…” He let out a pained sound and she shook him again, her nails digging deep in the side of his neck. “ _But_ we still have a child to protect. We still have Peeta. The Capitol expect their two-times Quell victor, they expect their favorite sarcastic witty Haymitch, they expect the underdog with an attitude… And if we do not give _him_ to them…”

Her voice trailed off.

“You die.” he whispered.

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand and more bravado than she probably felt. “I am collateral damage. It is Peeta I am concerned about. I am only the first guarantee on a long list.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” he confessed with urgency, cupping her cheek, brushing her wet hair away from her face. “I _can’t_ lose you. I…” He shook his head. What was the point in being scared? It couldn’t be worse. It was as bad as it could get. “I love you…”

“And I love you.” she answered, softening. “And if you feel a compulsive need to take a shower every two hours, I can live with that. If you need me to completely surrender to you in bed, I can live with that too. You can be vulnerable with me. You can be _anything_ with me. I am your _wife_. _I can live with all that_. But that’s for _us_ , _between_ us. Out there… Out there you need to be the same Haymitch Abernathy you have always been.”

He watched her, her words slowly bringing him back to reason. She was right, of course. Absolutely utterly right.

“You’re afraid I’m gonna lose it at the Crowning.” he surmised. And she wasn’t wrong to be afraid. The Crowning was a live event. There would be a crowd of spectators in front of him, Caesar to answer to and a summary of the Games to watch. It would be… It would be like being there again. It would be _bad_. She didn’t answer him but she leaned into the hand that was on her cheek. He took a deep breath. “I won’t. I know the stakes.” He felt a wave of annoyance and he let go of her. “I’m not a kid, sweetheart. I’m used to all this _shit_.”

“It isn’t the same thing as usual. It is all different now.” she sighed.

She stood up and outstretched a hand. He let her pull him to his feet and they toweled themselves dry in silence. He didn’t comment when she slipped on one of his shirts to sleep in, he suspected she had been sleeping in his stolen shirts all the time he had been away, but he did groan when she turned her back on him and he caught a glimpse of her ass.

He rummaged around the cupboard until he found what he was looking for.

“Roll on your stomach.” he grumbled when he walked in the bedroom, finding her already in bed. She frowned at him but didn’t discuss. She didn’t react when he inched the shirt up but she hissed in surprised when he smeared the cold salve on her backside. “How bad does it hurt? Should have _fucking_ told me. Would have stopped.”

_Hopefully_ , he would have.

_Never again_.

They had marked each other’s skin over the years. Both hers and his. But never like that. And it would never _ever_ happen again.

“It wasn’t that bad at the time, truly.” she muttered against her pillow, her wet hair was leaving a dark stain around her head. “I was as turned on as you were.”

“And that’s not screwed up at all.” he grumbled.

“Perhaps we are both screwed up people.” she commented, relaxing when his hands stopped purposefully smearing the salve to simply caress her skin. “A match made in heaven.”

“More like a match made in hell.” he snorted bitterly, leaning down to press a kiss at the small of her back. “I don’t like hurting you.”

That was a tiny lie because there were times when… But he chased those thoughts away. There was _playing_ but what they had just done, _that… That_ had been too close to letting the beast inside roam free to his tastes.

He adjusted the shirt back so it covered her and nudged her on her back so he could put some of the balm on her throat. She would rage when she would catch sight of it. He wasn’t sure what outfit she had planned for the Crowning but she would need to rethink it. He wasn’t sure foundation powder would be enough to cover the marks.

She lazily dipped her own fingers in the jar to rub some on his ribcage.

What a pair they made…

“They’ll touch you or the boy over my dead body.” he promised quietly.

She let out another of those tired little sighs. “It is not as comforting as you mean it.” And he supposed she had a point. She was ready to drop asleep, he could see it, he had exhausted her body but _he_ still felt keyed up. He wouldn’t manage to relax enough to… Her fingers stilled on his side. “There are sleeping pills in the nightstand drawer.”

He put the lid back on the salve and placed it on the bedside table. “You can’t take those if you’re gonna sleep with me. You need to wake up if…”

_If he lost it during the night._

And what was she doing with pills in the first place? She should have known better. She had been on the wrong side of that line before. She started taking them for a while and then she couldn’t sleep without them and then it was a mess.

“They aren’t for me.” she whispered.

“They don’t work on me.” he sighed.

“You are tired still.” she opposed. “They might.”

He hesitated and then reached for the drawer and the bottle of pills. He would regret it in the morning because he hated how they make him feel. Drowsy and hangovered. However he _was_ tired and… He craved oblivion.

He swallowed them dry and then lied down, letting her snuggle against his side with a soft content sigh. Her arms briefly tightened around him.

She didn’t say it but he knew.

She had thought they would never fall asleep together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge me I wasn't intending it to play out this way haha. So that was some intense smut and Haymitch kinda lost control which will probably bother him for a while. Do you think it will become an issue? Are you worried about the Crowning? Did you enjoy Effie being in charge of everything this chapter (even when she wasn't)? Next chapter, brought to you by the Games Broadcast and hosted by Caesar Flickerman, you will get to see your victor's crowned ;)


	39. Heavy Lies The Crown

Haymitch could feel the eyes on him. He kept pacing. Back and forth. Wall to wall.

The corridor was narrow and grey. He was trying not to feel claustrophobic but that was an undertaking he was failing spectacularly at. The bored Peacekeeper who was tasked with security near the stage was watching him, not because he was a threat but because he had nothing better to do. Staff members were running around, sometimes shooting him curious or admiring glances he was doing his best to ignore.

He wished Harwyn had stayed but that wasn’t how it worked.

The stylists would have to make an appearance on that stage too and they needed to get ready. They weren’t there to babysit him.

Peeta had come and gone, apparently less angry than the previous day, apparently understanding of his sudden wish to remain in the city… He wasn’t sure what Effie had told the boy but whatever it was, it had worked.

He could hear the clamor of the crowd outside, knew Caesar was getting ready to enter the fray on the other side of the building, knew it was almost time, knew…

He startled badly when a hand grabbed his arm and he looked up at Effie, not knowing how he could have missed her approach. She looked strangely serious, professional. A touch worried maybe.

She was wearing an odd sparkly blue jumpsuit with a wide black belt and a deep neckline that showed her cleavage but that wrapped around her throat, covering most of the bruises from view. The foundation powder she had caked herself with hid the rest. She didn’t often wear pants and it was weird to see her in that – Harwyn _certainly_ hadn’t been pleased by her refusal to part from her scarf and then, later on, by her calm but firm statement that she wouldn’t be wearing the dress he had designed for her that day. Once the man had understood what the problem was, he had quickly thought of a solution though.

The neon light was pale but it was still enough to make her golden wig glow.

“Give me a cigarette.” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “We do not need to make you a smoker.”

He shook his head. “I need something, alright?”

Her pout deepened but she opened her small sparkly clutch and handed him what he had asked. She even lit it for him.

Staff members shot them disapproving glares now but Haymitch couldn’t care less. He took a drag of the cigarette like a drowning man would take a breath of fresh air. It was alcohol he really craved but he would make do for now. Once the Crowning was behind them… Maybe not at the party… The party he would have to face sober, to be sure, to be _safe_ … In a few days though… Just a few days more…

“I talked to Caesar.” Effie told him in a calm confident tone. “There are questions he will need to ask about Katniss, Mags and Chaff… It is expected, you understand?” He gave a brief nod and brought the cigarette to his lips with shaky fingers. “If it becomes too much, find a way to let him know. He is aware of… _potential issues_ , he will help.”

“Okay.” he grumbled. He knew the game. He knew Caesar. She might have just been trying to help but it felt a little demeaning.

“Mr Abernathy!” the senior staff member called from the stage entrance. “You need to get in place, sir.”

Haymitch considered the girl with vibrant pink hair who was gesturing at him and looked back at Effie. Before he had time to blink, she had stolen the cigarette and had crushed it under her heeled boot. She forced a mint between his lips, briefly squeezed his hand and flashed him a bright smile.

“Everything will go without a hitch.” she promised.

She gave him a small nudge and he started walking toward the pink hair girl, his heart hammering so badly it almost felt like he was about to throw it up. He fisted his shaking fingers and took a few deep breaths, letting the girl show him where he was supposed to make his entrance, barely listening as she explained when he had to do it and where he would have to sit – as if the big throne-like chair in the middle of the stage wasn’t a huge clue. A glance behind the curtained area confirmed the City Circle was packed.

He could feel Effie’s warm presence behind him, _reassuring_. Her fingers brushed his, loosely entwining with them…

Caesar walked on stage under the roar of the impatient crowd. The words were lost to him. The host was greeting the audience – both those attending and the ones watching behind their TVs – making them even more excited with practiced skills…

“Effie.” he whispered, suddenly dizzy.

“Everything will be _fine_.” she repeated, still so calm it was probably faked. “Do not lose sight of the objective. Turn on the charm.”

The crowd was now chanting his name without much enticing necessary from Caesar. His long recovery had increased the hype and people were hungry for this. For _him_.

“People of Panem, I give you your victor! Twice Quell winner Haymitch Abernathy!” Caesar shouted, waving an arm in his direction.

Effie squeezed his fingers. “Remember. Eyes bright, chin up, smile on. _Go_.”

He wasn’t sure if she had pushed him or if he had walked in of his own volition. 

It was an automatic response ingrained by twenty-five years of experience for him to wave and smirk at the crowd, to join Caesar in the middle of the stage and clasp the host’s outstretched hand as if they were long lost brothers. It helped that he liked Caesar. The Capitol was never mean and always tried his best to help the kids.

At the host’s invitation, he went to sit on his chair, fingers grasping the armrests tight. It was a long time before Caesar could speak. He was surprised by how eager the crowd seemed. He had expected a lukewarm welcome. He certainly wasn’t Finnick Odair.

“So, Haymitch…” Caesar said once the staff had managed to hush the audience. “I suppose the first question I ought to ask is… How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” he shot back with a small shrug, placing his good hand on his ribcage. The stunt in the shower the previous night had done nothing to help on that front.

Caesar laughed and so did the crowd as if he had said something absolutely _hilarious_.

“Those ribs are still giving you troubles?” the host replied.

“Guess that’s what you get when a tree falls on you.” he snorted, winking at the audience. “Look out for falling trees, folks.”

More laughter.

He didn’t think he imagined Caesar’s subtle relaxing.

He relaxed a little himself. He could do this. He had been doing this for years. It was no different.

“You realize, of course, you are now _one of a kind_ …” Caesar commented once the crowd was under control once more. “Winning one Game is hard enough… Not only did you win two but you won _two Quells_ against all odds. _What_ is your secret, Haymitch?”

His chuckles were bitter but he supposed only a handful of people would have known. “I’m bad at dying.”

“And I can personally attest we are _all_ very happy about that!” Caesar rebounded quickly, leaning in a little as if to share a secret. “I have to say you have _always_ been one of my favorites.”

“Ah, now, Caesar… You know you’re not my type.” he joked.

More laughter.

“Oh, I think we all know _what_ your type is.” the host parried with good humor before waving that remark away. It was the first hint that would allow him and Effie to come out, he figured. But not _now_. “Well, traditions must be observed! Now, to a quick overview of this year absolutely _breathtaking_ Games! I don’t know about you but I was on the edge of my seat _the whole time_!”

“Front row seats were much more interesting.” Haymitch offered. “Should come with me, next time.”

The crowd roared at the ridiculous idea. Caesar hurried in mock-refusing then he directed everyone’s attention to the giant screens.

Panem’s sigil appeared followed by pre-Games preparations… The Reaping, the parade… It still made his skin crawl to have been out there so exposed.

“You are doing great.” Caesar told him as an aside, his hand covering his mic. “If you need me to redirect, just avoid the question, alright?”

He gave him a quick nod and tried not to look at the screens too closely. It was impossible, of course. It wasn’t long before his face appeared in a small square at the bottom right so everyone could see his reaction to the footage. He schooled his features in a neutral mask and clenched his jaw. It was the best he could do.

The first part wasn’t the most difficult. The Reapings, the parade, the interviews… It was when they reached the part in the actual arena that it became a little too much. He managed not to flinch when Woof stepped out of his platform too soon and exploded even though the crowd laughed again. As if it was funny. As if…

Since he had won, it was him they showed the most. He watched his very confused self try to make his way out of the maze of mirrors, watch his now dead friends do the same, watch Finnick kill Tilly Johnson, watch Katniss reach the Cornucopia just at that moment…

He let out a slow controlled breath when the arrow punctured Finnick’s eye and his body grew limp.

They cut his subsequent freak-out, he noticed. There was more footage of the bloodbath, of his friends killing each other… Seeder falling under Cashmere’s blade… Chaff killing Cecelia… He tried not to look, tried to stare at the screen without blinking until all he could see were dancing dots of light…

Then it was all about his and Katniss dash through the replica of the Mansion that was now looming behind him but that he mercifully couldn’t see. He watched himself figuring out what the arena meant, watch the trek through Seven’s portion of the arena, unnerved to realize Johanna had been hunting them even then…

The mutts came next and Mags. She had been in a bad shape and his actions had been out of kindness, it was the old woman who had asked him… He turned his head away, unable to watch. The guilt was too much.

Effie was still backstage, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching everything with rapt attention. She should have joined the rest of the team, they would be due to come in at some point and the staff always got nervous when people weren’t where they were supposed to be. She met his eyes from afar, shot him an encouraging smile that didn’t reach her gaze…

Caesar’s discreet nudge brought his attention back to what was happening on screen.

He finally found out what had happened while he and Katniss had waited the day out in Ten. Wiress and Beetee’s plan to take out the Careers had gone awry. Whatever electric trap they had meant to pull, it had ended up with Wiress getting injured and sacrificing herself so Beetee could run away. She had taken Brutus and Gloss with her though.

There were long shots of Beetee and Cashmere giving in to their rage and grief. People seemed to love it, _feed_ from the victors’ pain… It was sickening to watch.

But he didn’t have a choice.

There was a shortened version of Chaff’s fight against Blight…

A lump appeared in his throat when he watched himself and Katniss joking about sponsor gifts and chocolate, talking to the sky and the rest of their team… When they started walking in the direction of Eleven, his fingers were shaking so badly he couldn’t control the twitching. He licked his lips but, this time, he couldn’t pry his eyes away.

Johanna had been spying, calculating… It hadn’t taken her long at all to butcher that tree. She had done it with confidence and skills she had probably acquired in her District. Then she had laid in wait.

What had happened next…

He didn’t know if he should have been comforted or not by the fact a large amount of people were weeping. A few of them screamed Katniss’ name, a strange sort of tribute maybe.

Caesar’s hand squeezed his shoulder but Haymitch didn’t really notice. He watched himself jump on Johanna, all sense gone, obviously mad with rage and pain… He watched himself plummet his friend to death with such violence he was surprised they didn’t cut the sequence… He watched Chaff listening to the noises and screams from afar and eventually cursing under his breath before making the split decision to come to the rescue…

He watched the following struggle, also surprised when they didn’t cut that part out. But he supposed it made for good TV… Him crying over the corpse of a girl he loved like a daughter…

He shifted in the chair, clenched his jaw, turned his head not to see the scene that was going on and on…

He wasn’t sure where the clapping started but suddenly people were cheering for him while weeping and it was… The height of what he hated in the Capitol. The hypocrisy. Their inability to realize _it was real_. Not just people on a screen but…

Effie’s gesturing was almost frantic from backstage. He knew what she wanted. He needed to acknowledge the crowd.

So he forced himself to smirk  and nod as if it was grateful. As if…

He almost missed Chaff knocking him off and dragging him back to the cave. The sponsor gift had come almost immediately and his best friend had let out a low whistle when he had finished unpacking it.

_“Certainly got aces up your sleeves, Trinket…_ ” Chaff muttered.

Haymitch glanced at Effie who rolled her eyes with a small smile. It was stupid but it made him smile too.

Some people in the front row had started to notice his antics and were stretching their neck to see who he kept looking at. Let them, he thought, _whatever_.

The meaningful conversation he had shared with Chaff about fighting versus giving up was redacted enough to take a brand new meaning. Too subversive, he figured. You weren’t meant to question even _wanting_ to win the Games. Now it was simply about how he had wanted to help Katniss win to  go back to Peeta – which induced more cheering from the crowd.

The rest of it, he watched as if in a daze. It didn’t really register. Elis from Six finally died from withdrawals, alone and hidden away in the railroad… Beetee fell to a bear mutt, prompting the Gamemakers to announce a Feast. Venus had been clever enough to avoid detection until then but he hadn’t gone further than the Presidential Mansion’s stairs, subdued by the deadly team that were Enobaria and Cashmere.

Watching his fight with Cashmere, it seemed _miraculous_ that he had gotten out of it alive. He rubbed his shoulder when her knife stabbed him on screen. The pain was ghostlike, the same kind he always felt when he saw footage of his first Games, of the axe cutting him open… He looked terrifying when he slit her throat. _Mad_.

He breathed almost in relief when they reached the part when Chaff had attacked him because it was finally _over_.

He would _never_ watch those images again, he knew. Or, at least, he would do his best to avoid them like he had avoided the ones from the Second Quarter Quell.

Finally, Panem’s anthem appeared on the screen once more and Caesar declared they were having a commercial break and would be back soon. A flock of Games staff ran on stage, chief amongst them his old friend Coralus who could never shut up and whom Haymitch very much wanted to punch. He suffered being covered in powder because his skin was apparently too bright but pushed the man away when he tried to put mascara on him.

People were actively busy around him, adding more chairs in a semi-circle on either side of him…

Effie was ushered away before they went back on air, probably to where the others were waiting.

“And we are back!” Caesar joyfully declared once he was given the signal. “I think it is _high_ time we welcome the winning team, what do you say, Haymitch?”

“If they didn’t fall asleep…” he joked because the viewing part was always _long_ and the team being stuck out there didn’t really seem fair. The kids’ Crowning had been different but it had also been rushed. There was no reason to be that careful with his. Snow had made his point about any rebellious ideas clear.

He stood up when Caesar started calling everyone on stage. The stylists first. Haymitch fell into the charmer’s role easily enough. He kissed Maya’s hand, making her blush and stutter, and shook Harwyn’s hand as if he hadn’t _just_ spent half an hour with the man before getting up there.

Then Effie was called and the catcalls were enough to bring a very satisfied smile on her gold painted lips. She took her sweet time waving at the crowd and blowing kisses before making her way to the center of the stage. She air-kissed Caesar’s cheeks and then moved closer to him… He wasn’t sure what she was going for – more air kisses or something a bit more teasing – they hadn’t discussed it. He went straight for a hug, expecting her to mockingly push him away or something. She melted against him instead. The embrace went on a tad too long and the whistles and catcalls increased.

It was only when he slowly but surely lowered his right hand to her ass that she stepped back and whacked his chest with her trademark pursed lips and annoyed glare. It was all for show, though. Everything the audience wanted.

“If you two are _quite_ finished…” Caesar laughed. “Let me introduce Twelve’s mentor, our very own _Peeta Mellark_!”

The applause was deafening. Peeta was relaxed when he walked on stage, waving and smiling. Haymitch’s heart missed a beat when he realized he was wearing Katniss’ Mockingjay pin on the lapel of his suit. Was he clueless, stupid or just _that_ reckless?

He caught Effie’s eyes but she gave him a brief shake of her head.

It was a long time before the cheers died enough that they could all sit down. He lost track of how long they stood there and waved like idiots.

It was very codified. The stylists sat at the very end of the semi-circle, Haymitch and Caesar occupied the two chairs in the middle… Effie settled between the host and Harwyn while Peeta took the seat to Haymitch’s right.

“Haymitch, if you wouldn’t mind… We have selected a few questions from the audience.” Caesar started, pulling a tablet from the side of the chair. He glanced at the rest of the team, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Although I imagine there will be some for the rest of you. It was quite an interesting year for Twelve.”

“Interesting is one word for it.” Effie laughed. “Exhausting is another one. I have to confess, I am almost _relieved_ this will be my last year. _So much_ excitement…”

There were surprised gasps from the crowd and Haymitch figured that hadn’t been made official yet. What was it with his team today? They were the ones telling him he needed to keep it together and then they went and wore controversial pins and pulled one on Gamemakers…

“Are we to understand you are retiring, my dear?” Caesar asked, faking astonishment. “Why, this is _certainly_ a scoop…”

“The last year was simply _fabulous,_ Caesar.” she declared, sounding a bit sheepish. “And I am so proud and happy to have served as Twelve’s escort for so many years… Too many years for a lady to count, truthfully…”

“That’s _thirteen_ for you.” Haymitch snorted.

That earned him a glare and some laughter.

“ _Anyway_.” Effie continued. “It was my _pleasure_ and my _honor_ to be Twelve’s escort for so long. I am _ever_ so grateful for the love and the support you all gave me… But I think it is time for me to hand Twelve over to someone else. I will step down after this Victory Tour, always so proud of my victors.”

The smile she sent his and Peeta’s way was genuine.

The crowd was grumbling a little. Effie had always been popular and with so many victors gone… He wasn’t sure the Gamemakers had taken into account how more changes would be accepted.

“And I didn’t even ask my first question!” Caesar chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Should know Effie by now…” Haymitch taunted. “Doesn’t matter if you ask her opinion, she’s gonna give it to you anyway.”

“Well, I am _terribly_ sorry but I will _never_ let you wear a purple tie with a blue suit regardless of your unwillingness to receive my opinion.” she retorted.

He rolled his eyes. “That was _once_.”

“That was one time too many.” she deadpanned.

“I will miss the banter once you step down, Effie.” Caesar cut in.

She let out a deep fake sigh. “He insists on irking me.”

“ _I_ ’m the one doing the irking, ain’t I?” he scoffed.

“Yes, you are, you _insufferable_ man.” she snapped, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Maybe Effie should trade seats with me…” Peeta joked. “This way they can argue without having to shout across the stage.”

“Hilarious.” Haymitch sulked as everyone started to laugh.

“Alright, let’s address the questions, shall we?” Caesar eventually railed them in. “The first one unsurprisingly is about Katniss…” The host voice became serious. “It has been speculated and you have hinted at it during the Games themselves… Were you planning on helping her to win?”

Haymitch shrugged, unable to keep his tone light or to make that a joking matter. “Sure. Yeah.”

He kept it at that and Caesar, after a second, cleared his throat. “I suppose Peeta and the rest of your team were aware of it?”

“Yeah.” he confirmed. “That was the plan.”

“Peeta, I know you already talked about it in countless interviews in the last week so I won’t ask how you feel about Katniss being… Well, _gone_. But can you tell us how you feel about this? About Haymitch…” Caesar’s voice trailed off.

“Failing to bring her back?” Haymitch finished for him, with enough bitterness that Effie stared at him, a warning in her eyes.

“Haymitch did everything he could.” Peeta said slowly, _softly_. “I don’t blame _him._ For any of it. I’m… Honestly, I’m happy he’s back.” The boy brushed his fingers against the golden pin on his lapel. “Katniss loved Haymitch like a father. I do too. There’s no resentment here. She would have wanted him to win.”

Haymitch stared at his shoes rather than at the boy. He couldn’t bring himself to. He knew the boy meant every word of that but… It was still too much.

There were more questions he would have rather not answered. About Johanna. About Mags. About Chaff. About some things he had said or done in the arena. About how he had felt at certain moments.

He answered as many as he could, deflected when it was too hard or too personal to turn into a joke. Sometimes Caesar redirected the question to someone else and sometimes he casually dropped it altogether.

The host was careful not to push too much.

“Ah, and there is a question for our very own Faun Harwyn.” Caesar hummed after what felt like an eternity. Close to an hour at least. _Hell_. “There was a lot of talk about Twelve’s stylists, this year… Why did you come out of retirement to work for this District?”

Harwyn waved his hand in an helpless gesture before placing it back on the golden stone of his walking stick. “Effie was in an urgent need of a stylist.”

Peeta chuckled and when it brought attention to him, the boy made a face. “Sorry. I just remembered what happened at the parade.”

“An incident _was_ reported…” Caesar confirmed with unabashed amusement. “Following which the appointed stylist, Madam Felindra, quitted, leading to Mr Harwyn coming to the rescue… There has been a lot of speculations… I need to ask… What happened?” It was an open question. Effie was staring at her nails, apparently fascinated by her manicure, ignoring Peeta’s pointed gaze. It lasted for a moment until Caesar playfully nudged Haymitch. “I sense a story.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk from stretching his lips. “Turned out Effie wasn’t a fan of the parade outfit.”

“It was very… Shall we say _daring_?” Caesar nodded.

“ _Improper_ is the word you are looking for.” Effie huffed. “ _Inappropriate_ is another. _Outrageous_ is a third one.”

“Don’t start reciting the dictionary, sweetheart, we got it.” Haymitch teased. “Everyone saw my junk and it got your own knickers in a twist.”

It was almost worth it just to see Effie choke in indignation.

“ _Haymitch_!” she snapped. “We are on national live TV. _Mind_ your _language_. And do _not_ be _preposterous_. It had nothing to do with… Your _assets_.”

“Seems to me it had _everything_ to do with my _assets_.” he insisted, his smirk deepening. “Wished I could have seen the catfight though…” He poked Caesar’s shoulder. “Don’t have footage somewhere?”

“Unfortunately not.” the host chuckled.

“It was epic.” Peeta laughed. “Effie really _can_ scream.” 

“ _That_ she can.” Haymitch confirmed, wiggling his eyebrows, letting the innuendo sink. 

“I am going to _kill_ you.” she promised in a hiss, a delicate blush on her cheeks.

“And _then_ you complain about me always bringing up those _pesky_ rumors…” Caesar sighed, faking despair. “ _Truly_ , it would be easier for everyone if the two of you simply admitted it, you know.”

Haymitch didn’t say anything, slouching a little more in his chair if only to annoy her further. Effie let out a sigh of her own and batted innocent eyelashes. “Next question?”

“I do not hear a denial…” the host hummed.

“That would be because I did not give one, Caesar.” Effie deadpanned.

The crowd went wild and it was some time before Caesar could put a word in. “Is that a _confirmation_?”

“I do not believe I said that either.” she dismissed. “Now you were asking about Madam Felindra… I do _not_ mind telling you I find her work to be _poorly_ imaginative, not to say _very_ old-fashioned. Why, I do _not_ believe I would be caught _dead_ in one of her creations… Did you know…”

How she could go on ranting when the audience kept cheering and laughing, Haymitch wasn’t sure, but he watched her shred that stylist to pieces and he felt… _amazed_. She was such a hurricane. And he loved her for it.

He sobered up quickly though. The conversation went back to Katniss. He was monosyllabic on the subject so it fell on Peeta to answer most of the questions… Caesar asked why the boy was wearing her pin and Haymitch held his breath, waiting for the rebellious hint that would condemn them all…

“To carry her with me.” Peeta answered soberly. “I just… I like feeling her close.”

His eyes were a bit shiny and the audience teared up with him…

“Last question now.” Caesar hurriedly said. “Haymitch, a lot of people want to know how you felt about Chaff’s betrayal…”

“There was no betrayal.” he refuted. “It could only end one of two ways and time was precious. Chaff did what he thought he ought to do.”

“He was your best friend…” the host said.

“Yeah.” Haymitch sneered, almost defiant. “He _was_.”

“Caesar, I believe this lady is trying to attract your attention.” Effie lightly cut in, pointing at the girl with vibrant pink air who blushed crimson when the camera turned on her.

“Oh, right!” Caesar said cheerfully. “I think it is time for the part we were all waiting for… Please, make some noise for President Snow!”

The anthem rang out and Haymitch tensed as he stood up slowly with the rest of them. Snow’s granddaughter walked on stage dressed in white and a serious look on her young face, full of the responsibility she had been allotted since her youngest age, carrying a red cushion on top of which rested a crown.

Haymitch spared a thought for the old one. What had he done with it? Burned it? Tossed it? He couldn’t remember.

The applause was deafening. It was sickening.

Caesar greeted Snow with so much deference Haymitch let out a small irritated sigh. One glance at Effie was enough for him to remember what was at stake though so he pulled off his best polite face and stood straighter when Snow and the girl eventually came closer, as if he felt honored rather than disgusted.

He didn’t listen to a word of the President’s speech. Something about survival and examples and how victors were sort of ambassadors and how he had _no doubt_ Haymitch would carry on spreading the truth about the generosity of the Capitol…

He got the message loud and clear.

He didn’t flinch when Snow finally placed the wrought piece of metal on his head but it was a near thing.

“Heavy lies the crown…” the President whispered. His breath smelt like blood.

Then, they all waved with big fake smiles and it was over.

They were ushered off stage by well-meaning Games staff members… The moment they were back in the safety of the corridor, he turned around… Effie was already there. They hugged each other for dear life.

“Only the Victory Banquet now…” she sighed in his ear. “Then, we will be able to breathe.”

And _that_ was when he stiffened with sudden realization.

They had been so focused on the Crowning… He had completely forgotten about the Banquet at the Presidential Mansion.

“I can’t go…” he stuttered in horror. “Can’t go to the Mansion… Can’t…”

He was shaking.

Broken glass, dead bodies, blood on his hands…

He would never keep it together in that place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey!How did you like this Crowning? Do you think they did well? Will Haymitch survive the Victory Banquet? A certain Head Gamemaker will be in attendance next week! Please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> I know a few people were disturbed by the scene last chapter but rest assured it wasn't just some hardcore porn for the sake of it. Haymitch isn't going to turn into an abusive ass and it didn't sit well with him. It will be adressed. I just want to make a few things clear just in case some people had worries (if you don't have worries you can skip ahead and tell me all you thought about this chapter):
> 
> One, it was totally consensual. It was hardcore, yes, but if you read carefully he pauses a few times to make sure she doesn't want him to stop, that's very important to me because I really do believe with all my heart that Haymitch is the kind of guy who would stop at the smallest hint that his partner wants him to. I read a comment about how it was bordering on rape and... No. I mean, I understand completely that everyone has different tolerance thresholds in what they read and while I did warn in the first chapter that this story would be very angsty and dark, I wouldn't blame you if it goes further than what you can handle so that's totally fine if you don't want to read because it's too much for you. But it wasn't rape. It was consensual. One hundred percent.
> 
> Second, he didn't coerce her into it, he actually said he wasn't sure he wanted to have sex because he wasn't sure he could stay in control and she's the one who pushes him, clearly stating he could use her as he sees fit, so again I'm not defending Haymitch toying with a certain line but I think it's important to remember that Effie doesn't have the same approach to sex he (and most likely us) does. Sex is a hobby in the Capitol, she (at least in my hc) has had plenty of experiences and sex bordering on bdsm isn't something that would scare her away. Besides, she was probably trying to use sex as a way to "wake him up" from the numb detached shell he's become.
> 
> They're not the most healthy couple, folks. They started out with hate sex, angry sex, very rough sex... They hurt each other deliberately with words and probably with sex too... Sure, they found a balance recently and of course they love each other but, at the core, their relationship is based on something toxic so it's bound to come out now and then. I also read a few comments about that particular bout of sex being abuse... I will admit it might be disturbing to read because it was disturbing to write and maybe that sort of sex isn't your thing but it wasn't exactly abuse either (although Haymitch didn't see it that way). I'm not trying to apologize for his actions but, at the end of the day, it's a woman's right to choose what she likes and Effie didn't dislike what happened. If either of them really regretted and was scared by what happened it was him. Plus, the dominance play ended with their climax. He didn't leave her bleeding in the shower, he didn't beat her black and blue just to get an outlet to his anger... He took care of her afterwards, made sure she didn't have lasting injuries... I guess what I'm trying to say is that while it was hardcore, sex can go there sometimes - and it's fine if it makes you personally uncomfortable but as long as both people are consenting to it, it's really their business. I'm not preaching for anything here but I would hate for anyone to think that because it takes it away from vanilla, sex turns into abuse. The only important things are consent and respect.
> 
> Third and last, I know the day had been fractionned in several chapters but the last three chapters happened within twelve hours so Haymitch isn't exactly as his best (what with Snow's visit and all). At this point in the story, he's very numb and extremely depressed. He just went through something traumatic (again) and he is going to need to build himself back. It's not going to get better in five minutes or because she kisses it better. I think losing control like that reaaaally scared him and it is unlikely to happen again in the near future but it will have an impact on his frame of mind. I promise it's something he will confront himself to.
> 
> Ok, I talked too long haha! I'm sorry I really do understand why some people were disturbed (I promise I do get it and I don't blame you if you want to get off the train) but I really hate the thought of that smut scene being called rape or abuse because... Well, objectively, from Effie's perspective it wasn't. Maybe I wrote it wrong, that's on me. And also rest assure, it will be adressed soon.
> 
> For now... Tell me what you thought about this Crowning and what are your predictions for the Banquet?


	40. The Stuff Of Heroes

Haymitch accidentally bit down on the bud of the cigarette and the unpleasant taste of tobacco exploded in his mouth. _Figured_ , he thought, turning the empty flask this way and that, waiting for Effie to be done spraying herself with too much perfume.

The dress she was wearing was a number of gemstones sewed together with what he suspected to be real diamonds. Her back was bare to his gaze, the dress hanging on from her shoulders in defiance of everything gravity imposed. It was shorter in the front than in the back, showing off her endless legs… She was wearing a choker of pink diamonds around the neck, hiding the bruises, and matching earrings. She had also given up on her golden wig for a pale blue one that made her eyes look even bluer.

When she turned around, he helplessly looked up.

Their time at the penthouse to get ready was limited. He suspected they were already fashionably late given that Peeta and the stylists had left for the Victory Banquet’s red carpet a good twenty minutes earlier.

He hadn’t been in any state to go anywhere on time.

He should have been embarrassed of how weak he was being, he supposed. He kept shaking, pleading, _begging_ to be allowed to pass on the party all the while knowing there was nothing anyone could do or say to get him off the hook. Effie had pushed it back as long as she had been able to, pretending that it was herself who was running late and fooling no one…

He had gotten angry at some point, had tossed a few things around, had ordered liquor from the trembling Avoxes…

His tantrum – as Effie had qualified it – had brought him nothing but a headache.

So, in the end, he had sat there and waited for her to finish pretending she was running late so he could calm down.

She plucked the cigarette from his lips with disapproval and crushed it in an almost empty pot of some cream. He found it really ironical that she disapproved of his newfound smoking habit when she was the one who had introduced him to it in the first place.

“We really need to go now.” she told him firmly.

He gave a silent distressed nod but didn’t move.

“It will be fine.” she promised uncertainly.

Probably because she knew it wouldn’t.

She checked his outfit one last time, made sure there were no creases on the black suit, adjusted the blue bow-tie that somehow matched her wig… She briefly cupped his cheek and he leaned into her pink gloved hand…

The staff was impatient when they finally made their way to the lobby. They were ushered to a car even though the Mansion was well within walking distance.

Haymitch closed his eyes, feeling sick.

He felt the silky fabric of her glove sliding over his knuckles and he automatically clasped the hand she slipped into his.

“I am with you.” she reminded him. “Every step of the way, I am with you.”

He wished it made breathing easier.

He wasn’t really ready when the car came to a stop or when the door was opened. Flashes blinded him and if Effie hadn’t nudged him out, he might have remained in there for the rest of the night. He climbed out and outstretched a hand for her out of habit.

She was beaming when she emerged, a bright smile on her lips, twinkling eyes… She waved at the crowd and discreetly bumped him with her hip, reminding him to do  the same…

Of course, they took the scenic road.

They couldn’t _just_ go up the stairs and be done with the whole thing, no… They had to walk along the red carpet, answer a few journalists’ questions, sign pieces of paper, take pictures where the fans massed on the other side of the heavy security barriers…

At no point did he let go of Effie’s hand.

People had noticed. The press was having a field day. Effie joked away any question on the subject while Haymitch simply shrugged it off.

It was only once they were safely inside, following an Avox along the familiar corridors that she let go with a wince. She opened and closed her fist a few times with obvious pain and he realized he had crushed her fingers.

He immediately stopped walking to focus on her, brushing off memories of trailing along those same corridors with Katniss and Chaff. He gathered her hand in his and he would have taken off the glove if she hadn’t told him in a quiet voice that she was fine.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head.

She looped her arm around his and placed her other hand at the crook of his elbow, effectively trapping him against her side. “I am not. Stay close to me.”

It was unbearable.

She forced him to walk in the middle of the carpet when all he wanted was to hug the walls in fear of triggering landmines. He knew they were _safe_ – as safe as they could be in the enemy’s den anyway – but he couldn’t help himself.

One second he knew where he was, the next it was Katniss walking next to him and telling him to be quicker…

He tried not to stare at the spot where he and Chaff had found Venus Grant’s corpse when they passed by the stairs and he mostly kept his eyes down until they reached the main double doors of the ballroom.

The layout of the room matched the library perfectly and it was only too easy to imagine the maze and the dead people in it.

“This is business as usual.” Effie reminded him just as they were about to pass the doors. “Just like any other year. You know what to do. This is the easy part, Haymitch. You could do it in your sleep.”

The pep talk didn’t help at all.

A big hush fell over the ballroom when they made their grand entrance, quickly followed by _deafening_ clapping.

Effie’s nails dug in his arms and he forced a smirk that must have looked more shaky than confident because President Snow quickly redirected attention on himself by loudly joking that they had missed a fine speech and that they had started the party without them.

He heard himself answer with a casual gibe about women and the time they needed to get ready, triggering some laughs and a few vexed comments. Effie playfully whacked his arm and apologized for their tardiness to whoever was listening…

Soon enough the party was back in full swing and Haymitch was whisked in the momentum of things. The orchestra on the right side was playing and people were cluttering near the dance floor, apparently eager for the ball to be declared open…

Haymitch’s head was spinning but he made an effort to focus, aware that Snow’s eyes were tracking his every move. It wasn’t long before Peeta joined the small group of Capitols he and Effie were mingling with, presenting Haymitch with a loaded plate. He was fairly sure any food he would swallow would come back up so he gave a sharp shake of the head.

“I do believe it is time to open the ball.” Plutarch joyfully declared as he inserted himself in the small group on Peeta’s other side. “Miss Trinket, if you would do me the honor…”

Effie’s smile hardened but she was gracious when she accepted with a nod. “Of course! It would be my pleasure. Haymitch…”

She steered him a little away from the group of people, just enough that they would be able to talk without being overheard.

“Who was our biggest sponsor?” he asked. It was traditional for the victor to open the ball and it never hurt to sweeten sponsors. They might come in handy the following year and there was nothing they loved best than being at the center of attention.

“Ah, yes…” Effie winced. “I am not sure it would be wise to bring attention to _that_.”

“Why?” he frowned.

“Because it is my sister.” she sighed. “Ask Lean Strauss instead.”

He took the string of information in stride and stored it away for later. He had suspected she wanted to rope her sister into sponsoring Twelve, he hadn’t known she had been successful. Although they might have an arrangement in place. Effie might have to pay her back at a later date.

That would be cheating. Definitely. Gamemakers would frown on that.

Lean Strauss though…

He made a face. “Why her? She likes to grope me.”

“Yes.” she acknowledged with a dismissive wave. “But she is seventy and unlikely to try to… _rent_ your services. You can suffer five minutes of groping.” She paused and then pouted. “You will _definitely_ have to dance with Lyssandra next though. She will take offence and I won’t hear the end of it.”

“Fine.” he grumbled, searching the crowd for the old woman who had been giving Twelve some money for as long as he could remember. It usually wasn’t enough to do anything with it but she had had a soft spot for him since the Second Quell. He had been forced to dance with her more times than he liked to remember over the years and she was one of the most handsy ones. However Effie was right and it remained innocent enough. It was a safe bet.

He passed by an Avox carrying a tray loaded with flutes of champagnes and it took all he had in him to turn away. The state he was in, a mouthful of alcohol would be enough to make things worse, no matter how much he was longing for it. _Later_ , he promised himself.

The seventy year old woman was pleasantly surprised and clearly flattered by the unexpected offer. She wrapped herself around his arm like an octopus as he led her to the dance floor, beaming like it was the best day of her life.

Haymitch was desperately trying not to picture the Cornucopia right where he was now standing or the bodies that had surrounded them.

Official events at the Presidential Mansion were always codified and he could have done without the complicated dances. It wasn’t that he was bad at it – twenty five years in the Games had made him used to all those stupid things – but it asked for more concentration than he was able to give. The sponsor was a good sport about it but he stepped on her foot three times and his conversation wasn’t exactly up to spar.

Mainly because he kept thinking Chaff’s body had been _right_ _there_ and he could picture his own bloody hands and…

“Are you feeling quite alright, dear?” Lean asked tactfully.

He blinked and directed his eyes back to her face, swallowing hard. The lights from the chandeliers were blinding him. All the waltzing wasn’t helping his dizziness and…

“Yeah.” he replied eventually. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“You must be tired still.” the woman sympathized. “Why, the Crownings are always so long… They ought to have the Victory Banquet on another night, really… Have you had anything to eat yet? It might do you some good. You _are_ a little pale.”

Heavensbee and Effie had just joined them on the dance floor. They were followed by more people and he breathed a sigh of relief. It meant it would be over soon. He just needed to get to the end of this dance.

It felt endless.

The second dance was usually reserved for mentors and escorts and Haymitch wandered away, hoping to make an escape to a balcony only to be cornered by a Gamemaker and a group of wealthy people who wanted his attention. He nodded without really listening, watching Effie and Peeta waltz their way around the dance floor…

The boy was clumsy and she was clearly leading. It distracted him until they passed right over the exact spot Finnick’s body had been. Then he felt nauseous again and muttered an excuse.

He dodged calls of his name, the balcony doors his only goal. He slipped outside with relief, glad to realize that it was early enough that no one had made their way outside yet. In a while, it would be crowded, he knew, and there would be no respite to find there.

He gulped down fresh air, clutching the stone balustrade, feeling short of breath. The dizziness slowly receded when he took in the familiar sight of the gardens and the conservatory instead of a tiny replica of Panem.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, taking everything in, trying to ground himself. Long enough that the door to the balcony opened again in any case.

“There you are!” Heavensbee exclaimed as if it was a pleasant coincidence. “Everyone is looking for you, Haymitch. You are the star of the evening, it won’t do for you to spend the whole night hiding away…”

There was a warning in there but Haymitch didn’t heed it. He clenched his jaw and turned to face the Head Gamemaker who had betrayed them all six months earlier.

“What did it take to bring you back into the flock?” he taunted.

Plutarch took a step back, clearly not having expected for this particular subject to be addressed. The Capitol man glanced around with obvious worry but then waved the question off with a nonchalant shrug. “What do you want to hear, Haymitch?”

“The truth.” he snapped. “I want the _fucking_ truth.”

Heavensbee hesitated and then stepped further on the balcony, closing the door behind him. For a moment, the only sounds were the distant noises of the celebrations happening all over the city.

Haymitch noticed that the Head Gamemaker was careful enough to leave a certain distance between them. It was probably wise.

“Presidents Snow and Coin came to an arrangement a little before the end of Victory Tour.” Plutarch explained in a detached voice. “I am not privy to the details, all I know is that Thirteen got lands and total independence out of the deal provided that they keep to themselves and do not do anything to reveal their existence to the rest of Panem. Once I got wind of the negotiations… What can I say, Haymitch, I like to be on the winning team and I am no martyr. I did whatever was necessary to convince President Snow of my loyalty and I make no apologies for it.”

He had ratted out his agents. He had ratted out _everyone_.

And everyone had paid a stiff price for it, for him to still be standing there.

“You disgust me.” he spat.

“Yes?” Heavensbee laughed. There might have been a touch of bitterness in that laugh but it was hard to say. “Is that such a crime to be so desperate to survive? I would think _you_ of all people would understand the drive.”

He shook his head in denial even though a part of himself recognized the truth of that statement. The Hunger Games weren’t only played in an arena. And if he had been in the man’s shoes… No. No, he _wouldn’t_ have pushed people in front of a firing squad to save his own skin. He would have protected the people he loved. Like always. He might have failed but he would have tried.

“Cinna and Portia, Katniss, Chaff and the others… They’re dead because of you.” he accused.

His hand bundled into a fist and it was lucky for the Gamemaker he could feel the now familiar weight of the golden bangle around his wrist. Otherwise… If it hadn’t been for the reminder that the lives of Effie and Peeta depended on his restrain, he might have done something stupid. What was one more dead person on his conscience?

“Are they?” Plutarch retorted, obviously more hurt than he wanted to let on. “I wasn’t the one wielding the knife. If I remember right, for most of them, that was _you_.” The Head Gamemaker shook his head, deflating as if the anger had suddenly left him. “I apologize, that wasn’t very courteous. Look… I’m not your enemy.”

“Haven’t you heard? I don’t have enemies anymore.” he scoffed. “Can’t afford it.”

Heavensbee’s shifty eyes told him everything he needed to know about that. If Snow hadn’t known who to target before, the Head Gamemaker had probably been pointing fingers.

He could have had Effie killed with the stylists though and Haymitch suspected the only reason she had escaped the fire was because of the Gamemaker’s intervention. Still… It didn’t right every wrong.

“It might be for the best.” Plutarch offered. “You should enjoy the rest of your life, you might even find some happiness in it. It’s not your job to save the world.”

“It wasn’t about saving the world.” he retorted, turning toward the balcony doors and very much shoving the Gamemaker out of the way. “It was about making a difference.”

Katniss would have saved the world. She was pure enough for that. She was the stuff of heroes.

He had never been.

The party was loud and it assaulted him but he clenched his jaw and soldiered on. He tried to make his way to where Effie was standing, listening to a man who seemed very intent on flirting with her. Her smile was strained, her arms were crossed and her whole body language _screamed_ that his attention was unwelcomed.

Before he could reach her, Peeta suddenly appeared in front of him, a woman in tow.

He immediately saw the resemblance despite the heavy make-up. The delicate features and the blue eyes gave the Capitol away. There was something to her smile too…

“Haymitch, do you know Lyssandra?” Peeta asked casually. “Effie wanted to make sure I introduce you. Lyssa is…”

“Effie’s sister.” he nodded. He aimed for a charming smile because she was loaded and that was the way to go with loaded sponsors. The woman answered with a bright smile of her own. “Nice to _finally_ meet you.”

“My sister _has_ mentioned me, then?” Lyssa grinned. “She is rather tight-lips when you are concerned.”

“Only good things, sweetheart, I promise.” he lied.

“And _there_ are the famous pet names you are known for.” she chuckled. “Some find the habit charming, I heard it say.”

“Some beg for them.” he snorted, toeing the line with flirting but careful to stay on the right side of it. “Care for a dance?”

He outstretched a hand. He had been absent from the dance floor for too long as it was. A Gamemaker would fling someone important at him before long if he didn’t take preventive steps. He glanced in Effie’s direction when Lyssa placed her hand in his. She had managed to ditch the man but she was now looking _very_ displeased.

She purposefully turned her back on them and joined a group of escorts. She really must have wanted to make her point clear because it was the only reason he could find for her to willingly approach Viola Summercket.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. It was _her_ who had said he needed to dance with her sister.

“It was an impressive victory.” Lyssandra commented after a few seconds of heavy silence.

Haymitch was trying to focus on the steps he could barely remember. Waltzing had become second-nature somewhere along the line but anything more complicated than that always gave him pause. He waited until he had made her twirl under his arm before answering. “Effie mentioned I owe some of that to you. Guess thanks are in order.”

Lyssa’s blue eyes were twinkling in obvious delight. Her long fake eyelashes kept fluttering in something that wasn’t quite seductive but that wasn’t entirely innocent either. He hoped she wasn’t about to make a pass at him.

“I did not have much choice in that, I am afraid.” she confessed. “Effie was quite _frantic_ about getting my sponsoring.” Her amusement died down and gave way to concern. She was such an open book he wondered how she managed to survive on the Capitol’s scene. Candid genuine people rarely lasted long in a world of smoke screens and backstabbing. “I rarely saw her so… _frayed_. I could not refuse her my help, naturally.” She squeezed the hand he was holding. “I am glad you made it through, Haymitch. She is _shattered_ over Katniss’ loss but I _do_ believe losing you is not something she would have bear well.”

She sounded honest enough that he relaxed a little.

The mention of Katniss wasn’t welcomed. Every time the girl’s name was mentioned it felt as if someone was stabbing him in the heart. Hearing all those people talk about her death so casually…

“Thanks all the same.” he mumbled.

He wouldn’t go thanking all the people who had given them their money but he supposed a single exception wouldn’t kill him. He wasn’t sure how much Effie had ripped off her but it must have been an _extravagant_ amount even by Capitol standards.

“I would do anything for her.” Lyssa stated firmly, a warning in her voice.

He got the message loud and clear. It wasn’t quite a _don’t hurt my sister or else_ speech but it was certainly a variant.

He didn’t have to force his smile this time around. “Makes two of us, then.”

She looked satisfied and didn’t try to force him into any more meaningful conversation, simply commenting about the weather and the food they were serving at the party until it was time for him to release her.

He tried to locate Effie but she had vanished in the crowd and he couldn’t take a step without being accosted by someone. He wasn’t sure who handed him the first cocktail but three glasses in he was undeniably tipsy, desperate for more and aware he needed to stop right then. Those cocktails were _barely_ alcoholic but it was enough to remind him of how thirsty he was for some whiskey.

It didn’t become easier to move around the ballroom. Everywhere he looked, it was the arena all over again and the aggravating Capitols were not enough of a distraction. If anything though, the evening comforted him in his decision not to put a foot back in Twelve unless he had to. If a single night in the Mansion was unbearable, he couldn’t imagine what actually _living_ in the identical replica of the arena would do to him.

He caught sight of his escort a few times as someone or other dragged him to the dance floor, refusing to take no for an answer. She danced with a few sponsors and some of the Gamemakers… She particularly attracted attention when Caesar made her spin wildly before dipping her so low it was a miracle he didn’t drop her.

He tried to reach them but the crowd was like a sea with its waves and its currents…

The later it got, the wildest the party became. People were drunk and it was that time of the night when propriety was flying through the window.

Peeta soon made his way to his side, watching couples openly making out on the couches or against the walls with growing horror.

“You should go back to the Center.” Haymitch advised awkwardly. “You’ve stayed long enough. Nobody’s gonna question it.”

“It’s not going to end in an orgy, right?” the boy made a face.

“Not this kind of party, no.” he snorted. Although he wasn’t planning on sticking around much longer either. He figured he had fulfilled his duty as the current victor. “Look, kid…” Peeta hadn’t talked to him since he had made it clear he wasn’t going back to Twelve and while Haymitch still couldn’t quite look at him in the eyes, he didn’t want any misunderstanding. “About yesterday…”

He faltered when he remembered just _what_ had happened the previous day with Snow.

Just _thinking_ back about it was enough to make him feel _mortified_ all over again. The humiliation… It was almost worse than… No… Nothing was worse than the Games. But it was a close thing.

“We can talk tomorrow.” the boy offered when he failed to add anything more. “We _should_ talk tomorrow.”

He accepted with a relieved nod.

Peeta took his advice and left the party. Snow had long made his excuses and Haymitch was dying to do the same.

It took him almost fifteen minutes to corner Effie and interrupt the decidedly _flirty_ conversation she was having with a man old enough to be her grandfather.

“You mind?” he muttered before dragging her to the dance floor without leaving the sponsor time to agree or argue. Effie, of course, wasn’t pleased at all by his brusque manners but she kept her peace until she was enclosed in his arms and they were swaying to the slow music. “You abandoned me.”

The accusation made her pout a little and she tightened her hold on his neck. “Preposterous. I have been watching you all night, ready to fly to your rescue. You seemed to be doing well by yourself. You certainly seemed to have fun with my sister.”

His irritation faded, replaced with some amusement. “Not that I’m not digging the jealous act, Princess, but you got a ring on my finger already. You really think I’d ditch that to tap your sister?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “First, there is no ring on your finger. Second, please, do not be vulgar.”

“Will be as vulgar as I please.” he scowled, tugging her closer. Close enough that there was no space left between their bodies. She glanced around out of habit, worried about propriety probably, but didn’t call him out on it. He licked his lips, turned on by the clear jealousy she was displaying despite his best intentions. “I’ve got a _fucking_ golden manacle. That’s even more obvious than a ring.”

“You drank.” she countered as if it was a perfectly valid argument in the fight they were currently having.

“Had a few cocktails.” he admitted, rolling his eyes. “Barely enough to make me cheerful. No hard stuff so don’t go lecturing me.”

He felt her relax in his arms. “You are arguing with me.”

“Yeah, so what?” he frowned, not quite following.

“I missed that.” she smiled, her face softening.

He supposed it was more normal than him following her every instruction like a puppet. The meeting with Plutarch had shaken him enough that he felt… _awake_. He wasn’t sure it would last. He wasn’t sure of anything those days.

“Can we go?” he asked, leaning in just enough that their foreheads were pressed together.

They were barely swaying now and he knew people were staring. Most of them were wasted but there were cameras and cameras never let you forget anything. Not that it mattered anymore. They would need to discuss how to come out. But why make it complicated when it could be simple? He could kiss her, right there and then. It would be on every channel by the next morning.

And then they would have to deal with the backlash and it would be exhausting.

“I believe so.” she hummed, closing her eyes. “Are you alright?”

He closed his eyes too and mulled that over. Was he alright? When he couldn’t stop picturing his dead friends on various places of the dance floor? “I’ve been worse.”

“Let’s go home.” she suggested. “I will make you forget all about it.”

He was a bit hesitant when he brushed his fingers up and down her bare back. The memory of what had happened the previous night… He could see one of the bruises peeking out from under her diamond necklace.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.” he winced.

“Then, you won’t.” she promised, stepping back.

She led him out of the ballroom by the hand.

What else could he do but follow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy the party? Let me know your thoughts!


	41. The Beast Is Out To Play

Haymitch’s hand was splayed on her ribcage.

His fingers were tanned against her creamy skin and the contrast fascinated him more than was probably sane. Effie was still deeply asleep, her chest rising and falling regularly under his palm… His hand traveled up, cupped her breast… His thumb brushed against her nipple distractedly. She let out a small pleased noise in her sleep but he didn’t continue on that path. He brushed his hand down, pushing the sheets out of the way.

They were both naked but he was pretty certain they hadn’t done anything. They had been fooling around on their way back from the Victory Banquet. They had fallen on the bed and had touched each other and then… Then, he was drawing a blank, which told him he had likely fallen asleep on her.

She was so _beautiful_ …

The bruises on the back of her thighs and her ass had already faded, helped by the salve, and would probably be gone in a day or two. The ones on her throat were still an angry purple marred with the occasional yellow hues. They matched his torso.

He hated them.

He never wanted to hurt her again.

He was too aware of how easily he could have lost control the other night, of how easily he could have… He closed his eyes and took his hands off her to flop on his back and press them against his own face.

He didn’t remember falling asleep but he had woken up gasping for breath, his heart hammering in his chest, with the distinct feeling he needed to find someone. He couldn’t remember the nightmare, it couldn’t have been a too bad one because Effie hadn’t stirred.

Not that it mattered. Nightmares were only one facet of a whole.

It had taken them some time but they were there now. Hiding in the shadows. He was trying to ignore them but they weren’t so easily dismissed. _His_ _ghosts_. The curtain wasn’t pulled and it wasn’t completely dark in the room but it was enough to make him unsettled. He knew they were there, _lurking_. He knew what they wanted. He knew…

He hated the nights.

He had long mastered the trick of wasting half of them away and to sleep only in the early hours of morning when he was safe from the dark and what was hiding in it.

The clock, though, wasn’t being merciful. They were still a long way from sunrise.

He perceived a movement in the corner of the room and he sat up, staring at the empty spot. Effie rolled over next to him, her tousled hair forming a blond hallo on her white pillow. It startled him badly enough that he almost hit her out of reflex.

His fingers were shaking. He looked around for a possible weapon and found nothing but the half-closed drawer of the nightstand. The bottle of sleeping pills was staring back at him and he snatched it without thinking twice about it.

Not that he wanted to go back to sleep. Not when he knew the ghosts were there. Not when he knew he would be defenseless against them.

Leaving the bed wasn’t really a conscious decision but what else could he do? Lie there and wait for them to finish him? He slipped on his pajama pants and pocketed the pills, adrenaline flooding through his veins. He was careful when he crossed the room, ready to fight if anything jumped on him… He spotted Effie’s clutch and grabbed that too, knowing she had stuff in there that would help pass the time. He accidentally knocked off a bottle of perfume, making enough noise that she outstretched an arm toward the empty space.

“Haymitch?” she mumbled.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” he whispered.

He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone but he knew she would be safe. It wasn’t her the ghosts were after and they couldn’t hurt her anyway. They weren’t real. They were in his head. He was the only one they could hurt.

The corridor was pitch black and he sighed in relief when he flicked on the switch and lights flooded the common areas. No shadow meant no ghost although he could still feel their relentless presence at his back, following in his footsteps.

He made his way to the empty kitchen and fixed himself some tea, staring at the gleaming appliances while waiting for his water to boil. The smell of herbal tea wasn’t a complete comfort but it reminded him of his childhood, of his mother’s habit of drinking a cup every night before bed, the only luxury she granted herself – if that could even be called a luxury since the herbs mostly came from the meadow.

The living-room didn’t hold any appeal. Too big a room. He didn’t want to have so much empty space behind his back, not when he felt this threatened.

_All in your head_ , he reminded himself as he slowly climbed the stairs to the roof.

It didn’t help.

It wasn’t really warm enough to be standing outside in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants. He shivered as he made his way to the low wall, perching himself above the emptiness below. The city was always blinking with various colorful lights so it wasn’t that dark but it wasn’t as bright as he would have preferred it either. He settled straddling the wall, one foot in the air and one foot on the roof. It allowed him to see in both directions. Light and dark.

Not that it helped.

Some small pieces of cement crumbled under his foot only to eventually bounce back up in the air.

Haymitch looked down with some longing.

He rummaged into Effie’s purse until he found the battered cigarettes packet and her cheap plastic lighter. He wedged a cigarette between his lips with a newfound ease and lit it. He blew out the smoke, watching it wrap itself around the cloud of steam coming from the mug of tea…

He saw her first.

Of course.

Maysilee and her blond hair matted with blood, sixteen forever, staring at him with that same accusatory glare she always sported. Her throat was torn open.

His hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped the cigarette.

Then, there was Mabel. Sixteen forever too even though her features weren’t as precise as they used to be. He had no pictures of her, no way of remembering her by other than his memory. She was holding his brother’s hand. Hayden looked small, _so_ small for his eleven years… And on his other side their mother. Silent disapproval all over her face. Both burned so badly their skin had scaled.

His stomach churned and he took a scalding sip of tea, trying hard not to look, to pretend he hadn’t seen them because it was the safest thing to do…

Dead kids walked in from the sides. The tributes from his Games, lead by Nia and her missing eye… The tributes he had failed to save over the years… Cinna and Portia came next. And then Mags. Johanna. Cashmere. Enobaria. Chaff.

So many people that the roof was almost too small to contain them all.

The weight of their staring was so heavy…

He rubbed his chin with the heel of his hand, careful to keep the burning glow of the cigarette away from his face although he couldn’t quite tell why it mattered if he hurt himself or not.

There was a bump in his pant’s leg, stretching the fabric… He pulled the bottle of pills out and placed it on the parapet in front of him, not quite remembering when he had put it in there. There was an alarm bell ringing at the back of his mind, telling him to snap out of it, but… He just couldn’t bring himself to _care_.

The bottle was mostly full.

It was three hours to sunrise and it would be longer still before anyone got up inside the Center. It was plenty of time. Plenty of time for…

He took a shaky drag of the cigarette, the smell somehow comforting if only because it was so intrinsically linked to Effie in his mind.

_Effie_ …

He didn’t think he imagined Mabel’s gaze hardening or his mother’s disapproval increasing. She was everything to him but she was an escort. What did it say about him that he would sleep with – _love_ – the very enemy who had helped kill all the people standing on the roof? What did it say about him that a huge part of the reason why he was so tempted to swallow those pills was to prevent her joining them?

How long before he accidentally snapped her neck? How long before he started taking out on her the hatred he felt for himself. The bruises on her skin… They made him _sick_. Maybe she had enjoyed it on the moment and maybe she didn’t mind… _He_ did. How long before it spread from sex to every aspects of their lives? How long before she was too slow to leave the bed when he was having a nightmare and ended up dead for her troubles? How long before he fucked up and someone put a bullet in her brain as payback?

He would start drinking again.

And he couldn’t trust himself when he had one too many drinks. He would say something, _do_ something… And they would kill her.

What was the alternative?

A life without liquor? He would never manage it. Not with all the parties he would be forced to attend. Not with all the pressure. Not with all the ghosts.

“If you do this, you spit on my grave.”

He didn’t look up. Not even when she hopped on the wall.

“You’re not real.” he whispered, his voice raw.

It never helped to talk to them. Usually it made things worse.

Hallucinations liked to pretend they were flesh and blood.

“Neither are they.” Katniss shrugged.

He dared a glance and regretted it. Her face was split in two, grotesquely misshaped.

He shut his eyes. _Hard_.

He could feel the heat of the cigarette nearing his fingers and he brought it to his mouth again, taking a mechanical drag, holding the smoke in for a second before breathing it out, trying to find some peace in the repetitive motion.

“Haymitch.” the girl sighed. It was her voice. The same aggravated tone. The same impatience.

“You’re dead.” he spat.

“Yeah, so what?” she retorted.

“I killed you.” he snapped.

“Wasn’t you.” she shrugged again.

“Might as well have been.” The cigarette was almost consumed now and he tossed it away. It landed at Johanna’s feet. His eyes passed on her plummeted face and came back to stare at the mug of tea. Anything not to look at Katniss.

“You know better.” she chided him.

He wondered why she was the one playing the devil’s advocate, why his mind had chosen _her_ to try and keep off that metaphorical edge when her death was the one he felt most guilty for.

“Do I?” he chuckled and it sounded hollow. He shook his head and fished another cigarette from Effie’s packet. It was the last one. He wondered if she had more somewhere or if she would need to go buy some. He wondered if she would be angry about him smoking all of them when he had lectured her about the dangers of nicotine for years. He wondered if she would be angry about him stealing her sleeping pills too. He wondered if… The lighter wasn’t working properly and he struggled to light the cigarette. The soft wind wasn’t helping. It wasn’t helping him not shivering either. “What’s even the point, you tell me, sweetheart.”

“Family.” she answered without a moment of hesitation.

“Got none of that.” he reminded her, playing with the plastic lid of the small bottle. It would be like falling asleep. There were worse ways to go.

And Plutarch was right.

He had wielded the knife.

He might wield it again.

He was responsible for their deaths.

“Now, you’re being _stupid_.” she growled, hitting the wall with her fist.

He wriggled his toes because they were cold and then wrapped his free hand around the warm mug. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You need to wake up, Haymitch.” she demanded with a touch or urgency in her voice. “You’ve got people depending on you. That’s what you told me, remember? You didn’t choose this life. It’s unfair. But you’ve got people depending on you and if you fuck up they’re the ones who will pay the price. They’re your people. Peeta and Effie. They’re _your_ people. So you need to play the game. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s unfair. That’s what you _said_ to me.”

“They’re safe if I take myself off the chessboard.” he muttered. “ _Checkmate_. Safe from Snow. Safe from me.”

“You’re hurt.” Katniss insisted. “You’re hurt but hurt isn’t dead.”

“And that’s the whole problem, yeah?” he laughed bitterly. “I was supposed to _be_ dead _._ I wasn’t supposed to make it out and… And _what_? What do I do now?”

“You live.” Chaff barked from the side. Haymitch turned his head to look at Eleven’s victor. The disgust on his best friend’s face… “Didn’t die so you could just off yourself. _Fucking_ waste.”

“I think he should do it.” Johanna cackled. “Look at what he did to me… He’s going to do it to _them_ … Just give it some time…”

“He’s a monster.” Cashmere sing-sang, her hands pressing against the gaping wound in her chest. “Can’t control himself.”

“Not when he tasted blood.” Enobaria agreed. “Now the beast is out to play… He will kill again…”

“Would you all shut up?” Chaff snapped.

“Coward.” his brother whispered.

“Traitor.” Maysilee added.

“Murderer…” his mother accused.

And it was too much. Just _too much_.

All the tributes tossing accusations at him. _Truths_. He hadn’t saved them. They were dead and he hadn’t saved them. For most of them, he hadn’t even bothered to try. He had taken one look at them and had known a quick merciful death was all they could hope for so he hadn’t even _tried_.

“Haymitch.” Katniss’ voice cut in through the others.

But it was too late.

He needed to protect Effie and Peeta.

He needed this _hell_ to end.

And the best way to do that was…

The cigarette slipped from between his shaking fingers when he reached for the bottle of pills. The lid gave easily despite how weak he felt. Cold sweat ran down his shoulder blades, making him shiver again when the wind picked up…

“Haymitch, _please_.” Katniss begged, reaching out for him. “You know I don’t blame you. You know I don’t… _Haymitch_.”

He emptied half the bottle in his hand and grabbed the mug of tea…

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dum dum duuuuum. Mean cliffhanger alert ;) 
> 
> I _said_ we would be dealing with dark issues at the very beginning ;) What did you think of this chapter? Plutarch's words really stayed with him, right? And I said the heavy smut scene would have consequences. Haymitch reaaaaaally need to wake up now, don't you think? What do you think will happen next? Let me know your thoughts!


	42. Hurt Isn't Dead

The hand that whacked the pills out of his palm was very real.

He looked up into the wide tearful blue eyes of one very pissed off Effie Trinket and he blinked, the last of his dreamlike state slowly unwavering around him. The ghosts were gone.

Effie didn’t pause to think. She was shivering, clad only in the white shirt he had worn at the party earlier, but she didn’t seem to notice, she pulled him back on the roof, forced him to get off the parapet and, once he had his two feet firmly on the ground, she slapped him.

Hard enough that his head turned to the side.

He opened his mouth to make sure his jaw was still working and looked back at her, not quite sure…

He didn’t see the second one coming.

And he figured he deserved it.

His left cheek was _burning_. The pain and the sense of threat were enough to make him angry. It was instinct. A defense mechanism. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. Not after the arena. Not after everything.

It also brought him some much needed _clarity_.

He glared at her and, this time, when she lifted her hand to hit him again, he caught her wrist. Instead of settling, though, she started pummeling his chest with her free fist. It was designed to _hurt_ because she aimed at the bruises and the pain that flared in his chest was anything but welcomed. It made him high with adrenaline.

He blocked her punch with a growl and twisted her arm at the small of her back, trapping her against his chest. “Stop that.”

She struggled, tears running down her cheeks but _fury_ in her gaze.

“You stupid, idiotic…” she snapped. “You _fucking_ …”

He kissed her. _Hard_. He pushed his tongue in her mouth, pretended he couldn’t tell her wriggling had more to do with her trying to get away than trying to get him hot and bothered… She bit down on his bottom lip, equally hard, and he drew back with a hiss, tasting blood.

“You’re pushing all my triggers.” he warned in a low dangerous voice.

Hitting him, the taste of blood… She was making the _victor_ come forth and that…

“Oh, my _apologies_ , Haymitch, am I?” she hissed, glaring daggers at him. “Should I just have let you kill yourself, then? Would that help with those triggers of yours?”

“I wasn’t…” he lied.

“ _Shut up_.” she spat. She tried to shrug his grip off but he didn’t want to let her go. He was a little too afraid she would leave for good. “Don’t you _dare_ lie to me. Don’t you _dare_. Don’t you…” Suddenly, it was as if the fight had left her. She slumped against him, defeated. “This is irony at its finest. I bought those pills to do exactly that.”

“What?” he frowned, alarmed.

“I couldn’t watch you die.” she confessed. “I couldn’t _watch_ and…” She shook her head, glaring at him again. “But I would never do that to _you_. I would never leave you _alone_. _Dammit,_ Haymitch, how can you even _think_ about… Don’t you know what it would do to me? _Don’t you know?_ I can’t live without you! I _can’t_ …”

Her voice broke and she turned her head away.

He stopped restraining her. One hand settled on her hip, the other hesitantly brushed her cheek.

“I’m gonna get you killed.” he muttered. “It’s better if…”

“Tough luck because if you die, I die.” she hissed. “Don’t you dare think I wouldn’t. If you kill yourself, I will do the very same thing. Is that what you want?”

“Are you _fucking_ blackmailing me by threatening to commit suicide?” he scowled, angry beyond measure. He cupped her cheek more firmly, forcing her to look at him. “I want you _safe_. That’s the _fucking_ point. You don’t know…”

“You die, I die.” she cut him off, shoving him away. “Deal with it. I will keep you alive if it is the _last_ thing I do.”

“I _killed_ them!” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice but that was exactly how it came out. “I _fucking_ killed them! You know _how many_ _deaths_ I have on my conscience? You know…”

“You are hurt.” she countered, running her hands in her hair, tugging at the roots, clearly upset and desperate. “Hurt isn’t dead.”

“Well, maybe it is!” he shouted, his own voice breaking too. “’Cause I _fucking_ feel _fucking_ _dead_.”

Her arms fell back to her side, limp and heavy.

“I love you.” she whispered with a quiet sort of despair.

He rubbed his face, annoyed to realize he was an open book at that moment. He couldn’t hide the pain and turmoil. It was out for everyone to see.

And those words… He wasn’t sure how something could be so good to hear and so painful at the same time.

“It’s not something you can kiss better, Effie.” he scoffed. “It’s just… I _killed_ them. I hurt _you_. I can’t look at Peeta without remembering…” He took a deep breath and lifted his arms a little before letting them fall in a helpless gesture. “That’s what you want for the rest of your life? A broken murderer? I’m _weak_ and _pathetic_. I’m _not_ a good man. I’m gonna hurt you again. I’m gonna lose control and I’m gonna hurt you and…” He shook his head, turning his back on her, crossing the short distance to the edge... “I _don’t_ wanna hurt you. I don’t wanna be that guy.”

She came closer but she was smart enough not to touch. He could hear her shaky breathing, how difficult it was for her to keep collected. She was terrified. He had rarely seen her that scared.

“We had sex.” she stated. She aimed for firm but her voice was wavering. “Yes, it was a little hardcore but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I can handle more if it comes down to that and I don’t mind. I enjoyed it. You didn’t hurt me. _We_ _had_ _sex_. That’s all it was.”

“I hit you just because it made me feel better.” he spat. “That’s _not_ sex. That’s…”

“And it made me come.” she cut him off. “That’s very much sex. _Kinky_ sex if you will but still.”

“You don’t get it.” he growled, sweeping the mug and her clutch off the wall in an angry move. They crashed on the floor. The mug shattered in a few big pieces and he couldn’t help but admire the metaphor for what it was: his _fucking_ life.

“Oh, on the contrary. I _do_.” she hissed. “You think because you got a little heated during sex, when you were particularly upset because the man you hate most had just humiliated you in front of the woman you love and your surrogate son, now you are some sort of abusive man who will hit his wife at any given opportunity. How off the mark am I?”

He clenched his jaw and stared at the city below. At the colorful beams piercing the night and the people partying in the streets…

His silence must have been enough of an admission because she stepped closer.

He wanted to flee.

He wanted to run and never look back but he was rooted to the spot. She placed a hand on his back and he flinched, his whole body _tensing_ …

“For such a clever man you are being particularly _thick_.” she huffed. “There are men who send that vibe, you know. _Danger, do not approach_ … I have never been scared with you. Not once. Not even when sex wanders on the very rough side. At no point in the last thirteen years did I _ever_ get scared you would physically hurt me. At _no_ point.”

“Things are different now.” he mumbled.

“Are they?” she snorted. “Because I just touched you when you very much wanted me to leave you alone and instead of striking out in anger, you flinched in fear of hurting me.” She pressed her lips against the scars on his back. “You _are_ a good man, Haymitch. And I _trust_ you with everything I have. My body. My heart. _You_ need to trust _me_ back.”

“I trust you.” he protested, distracted by the way her mouth was running around his shoulder blade, dropping slow kisses at random.

“Then trust I am smart enough to handle myself.” she retorted. “To handle _you.”_

“I’m _dangerous_.” he begged. “Why can’t you see…”

“Not to me.” she interrupted. “You would break your own hand before you lifted it on me. I know that with everything I have.”

“The other night…” he snapped.

Arms sneaked around his waist and the lips on his back became more insistent. She nipped at the base of his neck, making him hiss in a mix of pleasure and pain.

“The other night was nothing I did not consent to. I _asked_ you to use me. I needed it as much as you did.” she replied impatiently. “And you took care of me afterwards. You did nothing wrong.”

“I did _plenty_ wrong.” he argued.

She sighed against his skin and rested her forehead between his shoulder blades. “Alright. Tell me _what_. What is _worth_ swallowing those pills over? What is worth making me find your cold _corpse_ first thing in the morning? What is worth hurting _me_ that way?”

“It’s not about you.” he grumbled.

“We are _married_. _You_ married _me_. Do you even remember that?” she snarled, tightening her grip on his waist until it became uncomfortable. “It _is_ about me.”

He covered her hands with his, played with the iris shaped ring with his thumb…

“I’m gonna be a burden.” he muttered. “Can’t function. Not fair on you.”

“Give yourself some time.” she chided. “It won’t get better in a few days. I know that. But in time… Once we can leave the penthouse and we can move to my apartment…”

“It’s not gonna be magically better at your place, sweetheart.” he breathed out. “And it’s not just about us either. I do something wrong and…”

“We will manage.” she promised. “We are good at that, you and I. _Surviving_.”

He couldn’t argue with that. She was a master in her trade of masks and pretence. And he was usually good at swimming in hot water.

But he was so _exhausted_ …

Her nose was gently nuzzling his skin and he found himself relaxing without really realizing.

“I want a life with you.” he confessed slowly, surprising even himself. He closed his eyes, his throat tightening. “But that’s betraying them, yeah? They’re dead, half of them ‘cause _I_ killed them, and I’m gonna play house with my escort? How’s that right? How’s that fair?”

“It isn’t.” she admitted. “But nothing ever is.” She remained silent for a bit and, when she talked again, there was too much pain and fear in her voice. “You have to _promise_ me you _won’t_ try something like this again. I can’t be worried about that every second of the day, Haymitch. This Quell… You had the worst of it, I know this, but… It was hard on me too.”

She sounded strangely vulnerable, as if she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t push her away for expressing her own grief.

Maybe, he told himself, he had looked at this all wrong.

He had made it all about himself ever since he had woken up. His sanity… His pain… He wasn’t sure he was quite back to himself yet. He still felt strangely adrift. But maybe… Maybe all he needed was a purpose.

He turned around in her arms and embraced her back.

“I loved her too, you know.” she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. “And Finnick… Mags… Cecelia… I spent every second after the launch praying it would be them and not either of you and a part of me… A part of me was _hoping_ it would be Katniss instead of…”

He kissed her because he didn’t want to hear it.

He kissed her gently, slowly… He wasn’t the best one to give absolution but that was what it tasted it like: forgiveness. He knew it was an empty wish but they would never survive if they kept on clinging to that guilt. _Effie_ would never survive that way. _He_ was used to it.

She deepened the kiss and it grew heated. Her hands were running on his back, following the path of the scars… He fisted the light fabric of the shirt at her waist, pulling it up… She tugged and he followed after her, chasing after her mouth every time she drew back, until she had her back to the wall next to the door and all he could feel was the warmth of her body.

They had been in that position countless times before. She wrapped her leg around his waist and he ran his palm under her thigh. She made a little frustrated noise when he didn’t lift her up like she obviously wanted.

It wasn’t a up-against-the-wall kind of night though.

He stopped kissing her long enough to step back.

“Haymitch.” she whined only to shriek when he scooped her up bridal style. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck. “Your ribs…”

“Don’t worry about that.” he muttered even though it wasn’t doing them any good. The shoulder was the worst though. The wound was closed but it still felt tender.

She searched his face for a second but he was already taking the stairs two steps at a time so she must have decided he knew what he was doing. She started attacking his neck, expertly licking, nibbling and kissing at one particular spot. She was working on making the king of hickeys but he didn’t protest.

It didn’t matter anymore.

They didn’t need to hide.

By the time they reached the bedrooms corridor all that biting had made him hot and bothered. She was having fun at his expense, running her nails against his shoulder and back… 

Her arms tightened around his neck when they reached the bedroom and he could tell she was expecting him to toss her. He lied her down instead, covering her body with his, going back to kissing her, letting the heat build up…

It reminded him of the last night of the Tour, of _making love_ for the first time… 

She unbuttoned the shirt with impatience, which made him smirk even as he kicked off the sweatpants.

She let out a sigh of relief once it was skin on skin, sliding a leg between his, rubbing herself on his thigh… They didn’t seem to be able to stop kissing. It was feverish. She arched every time his fingers brushed against her stomach, her breasts… His mouth wandered down her jaw to her throat and he reverently kissed every bruise his fingers had left.

Her fingers coiled firmly around him, slowly tugging and squeezing in the way he liked best.

His lips wandered to her collarbone and then lower. He sucked a nipple in his mouth, pinched the other one… She squeezed him hard in an instinctive answer and the noises they were both making told him foreplay was all well and good but they needed more. His thigh was drenched as it was and her rubbing was becoming a little desperate.

“Don’t leave me…” she begged when he gently nudged her hand away and settled between her legs.

He buried himself in her in one powerful thrust that made her cry out, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her eyelids fluttering closed…

“Never.” he promised in a rough whisper.

Her blue eyes bore into his, her nails digging hard in his lower back. “Swear it.”

He didn’t like making oaths he couldn’t keep. He knew what she was asking though. He thought back to those pills and, now that she was there with him and he felt completely lucid, he was a bit scared of what had gotten into him. He had never listened to the voices before. He wasn’t that kind of coward. It wasn’t him to opt for the easy way out. It wasn’t _him_.

“I swear.” he offered.

Her eyes filled with tears of relief that she blinked away. He kissed the ones that slipped through and rolled on her cheeks.

Then he started to move.

He kept the pace tantalizingly slow. He kissed and worshipped her body because he wanted her to know, without a single doubt, that this was still something he wanted.

Her.

_Them_. 

He didn’t have much to live for but he had her and it would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Effie saves Haymitch once again. A lot of important topics were covered today! Did you like the chapter? Tell me your thoughts!


	43. A Shot At It

Haymitch wasn’t sure how late it was but his guess was well past noon.

He didn’t think they had anything scheduled for that day though so he remained in the shower longer than was probably wise, letting the water beat down on him from above and scrubbing his hands until they felt raw. He lost track of time in his hopeless quest to get rid of imaginary blood.

Eventually, he remembered himself and got out, barely bothering to rub his wet hair with a  towel before making his way out of the bathroom. Effie’s bedroom didn’t offer him a lot of options in terms of clothing so he wrapped the towel around his hips and hurried down the corridor after making sure nobody was there to see. It was out of habit more than anything. It was difficult to remember there was no point in hiding anymore.

He stood in front of his wardrobe for a few minutes, trying to remember the last time he had been allowed to choose his own outfit. It felt odd to pick out some pants, a shirt and a waistcoat, odder still to see his reflection in the mirror once he was dressed.

The clothes were familiar. _Casual chic_ , as Effie would put it. No longer a tribute, not the victor but the _mentor_ once more… For the first time in a long time, he looked into his own eyes, at his own face… He looked… _old_ , as if he had aged ten years in the course of a couple of weeks. His skin was tight on his cheekbones, he was pale and his grey eyes were bloodshot.

Mostly, he looked the same as before and that was what shocked him most.

It wasn’t as easy as just stepping back into old clothes though. He didn’t feel like the Haymitch from before the Quell, just like he hadn’t felt like the teenager who had sneaked out of the house to find food for his family after he had won his first Games. It had taken him years to figure out who his new self had been then. He hoped it wouldn’t take him that long this time around.

It was like shredding a skin you had outgrown. The flesh underneath was still raw and it was difficult to say how it would turn out.

It _would_ turn out into something though, he told his reflection firmly. There would be no more scenes like the previous night. There _could_ be no more scenes like the previous night.

Only remembering Effie’s face after she had slapped the pills out of his hands…

He shook his head and ran his fingers in his hair, giving himself a last hard look. What had he even been doing? What _was_ he even doing? He needed to pull himself together and fast. That wasn’t him. Taking the easy way out… That wasn’t _him_. And that wasn’t who he wanted to be either.

He left the room and ventured in the penthouse, looking for Effie although not quite impatient to see her. He believed they were mostly okay now, that they had reached an understanding, but she had been wrapped around him so tightly when he had fallen asleep that he also knew she would keep an attentive watch on him from now on. Truth be told… He was ashamed of his own weakness.

The penthouse was silent and seemingly deserted. His feet took him to the living-room where he wasn’t totally surprised to find Peeta. He almost turned on his heels and fled. Nothing confined him to the Center anymore. He could go down to the mentor lounge or even _outside_. He could lose himself in the familiar busy streets. He could visit the nearest bar. He could…

_He could try to stop being such a coward…_

“Morning.” he called out awkwardly.

Peeta had a drawing pad propped on his knees and had been so absorbed in the lines he was tracing with his piece of charcoal that he hadn’t heard his approach. He startled a little and looked up at Haymitch, apparently not quite sure how to address his newfound willingness to acknowledge him.

Peeta was Peeta though and he forced a small smile. “More like _afternoon_.”

“It was a late night.” he shrugged.

“Yes, I guess it was.” the boy agreed.

The conversation came to a halt and Haymitch shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, unsure if he should come in or leave. He didn’t want to impose his presence on the kid, not when he was responsible for…

“There’s food.” Peeta said suddenly, waving at the coffee table where an apparently untouched plate with small sandwiches rested. “If you’re hungry…”

He wasn’t really but he was also aware he hadn’t been eating enough in the last few days. He reluctantly made his way to the couch and snatched one of the sandwiches, making a face when he realized they were cucumber sandwiches. He hated those and they had been tacitly been banished from the penthouse for as long as he could remember. Effie’s revenge, he figured.

He still took a bite, chancing a look at the boy. His throat closed when his eyes fell on the pad, now that he had a clear view… The rest of the sandwich remained forgotten in his hand.

Peeta followed his gaze and brushed his dark-stained fingers against the half finished face of Katniss.

“I meant what I said. I don’t blame you.” the kid offered.

It should have made him feel better but it didn’t, maybe because he blamed himself enough for both of them. And also because it didn’t make sense to him. He was guilty. There was no question about that. He had made a promise and…

“I really wanted…” he croaked, his voice rough.

“I know.” Peeta cut him off, a bit too quickly and with a hint of something that sounded like resentment. Haymitch nodded, aware that while he might not _want_ to be angry with him, there still was some of that in there. And it was natural, he figured. There was a beat of silence during which Haymitch forced himself to finish the sandwich even if it settled like lead at the bottom of his stomach. The boy was staring at the piece of charcoal as if not really seeing it. “I asked Effie to get me back to Twelve… My train leaves tonight… We didn’t… We didn’t send her… I wanted to be there when…” Peeta didn’t seem to be able to finish and it dawned on Haymitch what he was trying to say. They hadn’t shipped the coffin back, the funerals hadn’t taken place yet. The boy clenched his jaw and squeezed the charcoal so hard Haymitch waited for it to break. “I thought maybe you would…”

“No.” he objected quickly but firmly enough not to leave any doubt. “I told you. I’m not going back.”

Hurt flashed in Peeta’s eyes and he supposed he was opening new wounds that wouldn’t be so easily repaired. Katniss’ death had created a chiasm between them and it wasn’t one he was willing to cross. Not like that. He _loved_ the boy. He _wanted_ to help him but…

The fact was he was convinced only looking at him made Peeta remember that Katniss was dead when _he_ lived because the reverse was just as true. And he didn’t want to impose that on Peeta just like he didn’t want to impose that on himself. He would have borne it if he had thought it would be of any comfort to the kid but he knew better. Even if Peeta didn’t realize that yet.

“I’m not saying you have to _stay_.” Peeta snapped. “I get what… Look, you have Effie here and she explained about Twelve being too much like the arena and… I get _that_. I’m _not_ saying you have to stay but… We’re burying _Katniss_.”

He kept his eyes averted, looking at the skyscrapers through the bay window rather than at him. He shouldn’t have come in. He should have followed his instinct and avoided the difficult conversation. He closed his shaking fingers into a fist.

There was a reason why you sent the dead tributes back while you were still in the city, he wanted to tell the kid, because attending the funerals would be selfish, something to attenuate a mentor’s guilt but that added to the strain of the family’s grief. The families never wanted to see you. _Never_.

And the fact that he knew Aster and Prim, that he had considered them not only close friends but, yes, _family_ , didn’t help at all. It made it _worse_.

“I’m not coming.” he repeated, forcing himself to remain calm.

For their sake if not for his.

The weight of Peeta’s gaze though, it was more than he could bear.

He stood up and walked to the liquor cart by reflex, only remembering too late there would be nothing there to take the edge off. He almost knocked it over in annoyance but ended up pouring himself some apple juice instead. Just to have a glass to hold. It was more of a comfort than was probably sane.

“Why?” the boy asked and it was clear Peeta was making a real effort to keep his voice even.

He thought about lying and then dismissed that option, thinking maybe the truth would be more effective this time around.

“Cause they’re gonna hate me and I don’t wanna see that.” he shrugged, crossing the short distance to the bay window, leaning against the cold glass to watch the bright blue sky outside. He wondered how long it would take him to miss cloudy skies, thunderstorms, rain and blizzards… He wondered how long it would take him to get used to a controlled weather.

“They’re not going to blame you any more than I do.” Peeta objected. “You’re…”

“I’ve seen it before, boy. I remember.” he spat. He remembered coming off a train a victor, with mixed feelings about what he had done and a lot of nightmares but over the moon at the thought of seeing his loved ones again, only to be faced with the District’s fear and resentment. A good portion of the Seam gone in flames. His family dead amongst a few other victims. His girl executed for a feeble reason. The message clear. Everyone had understood it. And he had seen the hatred in their eyes, the apprehension, the rejection… “I’m not going back to Twelve.”

Not until he could help it.

For the Tour. He would _have_ to go back for the Tour.

God, _the Tour_ …

It wasn’t something he wanted to think about and, since there would be months before he had to, he chased it from his mind.

“Haymitch…” Peeta sighed.

“I’m sorry.” he said and the words were unfamiliar on his lips. He didn’t apologize often. That wasn’t who he was. Who he used to be. Who even knew anymore? “I’m sorry I can’t be… _better_ for you. I just… Right now it’s all I can do to…”

His sentence trailed off because he wasn’t sure what it was he _could_ do. Stay alive? He had almost spectacularly failed at it just the previous night.

“I understand.” the boy offered quietly. A lie but a kind one. “I will tell them the Gamemakers wouldn’t let you come back yet. They will ask after you.”

“No, they won’t.” he snorted without any amusement. He didn’t want to think about Prim or Aster. It broke his heart to imagine them in front of their TV when… “Where’s Effie?”

“Oh, she had to go on a show or something this morning…” Peeta frowned, focusing back on his drawing. “And then she had a lunch with one of our sponsors planned, I think.” There was a small moment of hesitation and then… “About sponsors… Effie wouldn’t tell me but…”

He closed his eyes. “If she doesn’t want you to know, pretend you haven’t figured it out.”

Shocked silence was the only answer he got to that for a few minutes.

“You _know_.” Peeta hissed. “I wasn’t sure it was really… But _you know_ and you _still_ …”

“You’re very young and very new to this.” he cut him off quietly. “Give it a few years and you might find yourself in my shoes.” He hoped for the boy’s sake, he wouldn’t be but… Odds weren’t likely. He shook his head, trying not to think about Finnick’s face right after Mags had explained… “You don’t want to open that can of worms until you _have_ to, kid. Trust me.”

Peeta had never really known how to leave well enough alone.

“After… _After_.” the boy insisted and the definite tone of that word unmistakably referred to _Katniss_ so Haymitch didn’t even try to ask what he was talking about. “I was… I wasn’t really helpful. She called her sister, she asked Lyssandra for as much money as she could give… I think her husband wasn’t really happy about supporting us but… Lyssa came through. We still had some. We made a lot over Katniss asking for chocolate…” Peeta paused but Haymitch didn’t press him, familiar with the difficulty of finding the right words for some things that couldn’t quite be properly expressed. “Effie kept saying it wasn’t enough, that we needed _more_ , that you would need more advanced medical stuff than we could pay for…”

He wasn’t sure he had really needed as much stuff as they had sent. Effie had freaked out and she had snapped.

“Peeta…” he tried.

“She asked me for the sponsor files with a golden star on them.” the kid continued and Haymitch clenched his jaw. He knew her system even if that particular mark had never really been mentioned between them. “She wouldn’t tell me what it meant. She just went out and when she came back, she had pledges for me to sign and we had enough money to send everything to Chaff. I asked but she didn’t want to explain and… _Katniss_ … It was just too fresh. I asked her again when it was all over but…”

“ _Kid_.” he snapped. “You’re judging her?”

“Of course not.” Peeta retorted. “I just want to understand what…”

“You understood.” he cut him off. “I ain’t gonna spell it out for you. _She doesn’t want you to kno_ w cause she doesn’t want you to look at her _differently_. She’s done it before. _I’_ ve done it before if that’s your next question. Just _shut up_ about that already.” The anger was hard to control and difficult to suppress. He wasn’t sure he could keep it under wrap, not with the knowledge of what she had been forced to do for him, of what she might have been doing right at that moment to pay back a pledge or another. “I’m gonna go take a nap.”

He placed his untouched glass on the table and snatched a couple of sandwiches before retreating to Effie’s bedroom. He left crumbs on the bedsheets and he was sure there would be hell to pay about that later, not that he really cared. He tried not to pace around like a caged lion waiting for her to come back but it was a close thing. He eventually settled on the bed with a book he couldn’t focus on and made an effort not to let his mind wander.

When she _did_ show up, it was mid-afternoon and she didn’t seem totally happy to find him in her room. He wasn’t fooled by the bubbly escort mask on her face – and he knew she knew. For a second, they were frozen in their respective spot. Him on the bed, her on the threshold of her own room.

“You were out long.” he commented, turning a page of his book and forcing his eyes to follow the words if only to give the pretence of reading.

“I was on a talk-show and then I had some appointments… Didn’t Peeta tell you?” she hummed casually, taking off her shoes. “There was some paperwork to do. He is going back to Twelve tonight.”

“Yeah. He said.” He made a face. “He wanted me to go with him.”

Effie froze again, her hands taking pins out of her pink wig. “Ah. _Yes_. I did not really have a good opportunity to mention…”

“It’s fine.” he dismissed in a tone that very much implied it _wasn’t_. It wasn’t really fair to her because Peeta had had the final say and he wasn’t really angry with _her_ anyway. “You’re okay?”

It was an innocent enough question, tossed out there in a casual tone that she would be free to interpret as she wished.

She wasn’t fooled and she must have figured out that he knew where she had been. She studied him for  a second and then went back to getting rid of her wig. “ _Absolutely_. I am just going to take a bath, relax a little… I was on Talia’s show, you know the one?” He wasn’t sure so he shrugged and she waved a hand in the air to indicate it didn’t matter. “She had _a lot_ of questions about us, our dance last night...” The Victory Banquet seemed like it had happened days earlier instead of the previous night and Haymitch struggled to remember what she was talking about. “I didn’t confirm anything but I refused to deny. I was not sure how you wanted to do this… Should we simply issue a statement or make it clear when we attend the next event together that we are there… _together_?”

Issuing a statement would seem cold and not genuine enough for Snow probably. Districts might doubt it.

“Sounds good.” he mumbled, watching her undress. His eyes trail on her skin, trying to find a proof of… Of what? The thought of anyone else’s hands on her made him seething mad with jealousy but… It wasn’t like she had been asking for it. He hated that it was their lives but it was business. He had pimped himself out the year before and she had been good enough not to comment then, when she could have just as well have made a scene. “You need anything?”

Her hands uncharacteristically fumbled with the clasp of her lacy bra. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Haymitch…”

“Tea or something?” he suggested before she could say anything more. “I’d ask if you want wine but nobody’s gonna let me have _that_ so… I’m gonna get myself some tea. So? Yeah or no?”

She looked uncertain for a moment, a small smile eventually stretched her lips. “Tea would be nice.”

It wasn’t that much of a hardship to fetch two mugs from the kitchen. He heard Peeta in the girl’s room on his way back – _what used to be_ the girl’s room. He guessed the boy was packing.

He had been gone long enough that Effie was already soaking in the huge bathtub, her hair pinned in a ridiculous bun on the top of her head. He couldn’t resist squeezing it with a smirk once he had placed the mug of tea on the edge closest to the wall, where it wouldn’t be in any danger of accidentally falling in the tub. She looked like one of those poodles whose fur the Capitols groomed in different puffy styles.

She narrowed her eyes at him in warning and he lifted his hand in a defensive gesture, bringing his own mug to his lips with his other one. “Didn’t say a word.”

“It would be unwise.” she huffed but her face softened. “There is enough room for two in here.”

“Oh, I _know_.” He lifted his eyebrows, letting himself remember just what had happened the last time he had climbed in a bath with her. She flushed, her own mind probably wandering on a similar path. He perched himself on the edge with a small shrug. “I’m good.”

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

He doubted she would _directly_ address what had happened last night, mainly because she knew he would more than likely _bolt_. And it was his first instinct, really.

He forced himself to remain still, to take another sip of his tea. He snorted with self-deprecation. “Stupid?”

Her hand shot out to cover the fingers nervously drumming on his knee.

“I stand by what I said last night.” she whispered. “I love you. And I _cannot_ live without you.” She stared at their joined hands before gently tugging on the battered golden bangle. “I know I might not be reason enough for you to…”

“You’re more than enough.” he muttered, embarrassed. “Told you. I was _stupid_.” She looked hopeful but wary and he let out a deep sigh, placing the mug of tea on the floor to cup her cheek. “Sweetheart…” He hesitated, wishing not for the first time that he could be a bit better at expressing _feelings_. “It won’t happen again. I _promise_.” He leaned in to kiss her, letting go of her cheek to grab the opposite edge - the last thing he wanted was an unexpected bath. Her lips were pliant under his, a touch too unresponsive for his taste. He drew back just enough to bump his forehead against hers. “If there’s only one good thing to come out of this whole hell… I want _us_ , Effie. I…” He sighed again. He still felt like being happy with her would be a betrayal but… It wasn’t enough to stop him from wanting it. “I want a life with you.”

Even if it was in _her world_.

Ideally, he would have preferred for it to happen in _his_ , preferably after the Capitol had fallen.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers and it was more than he already could have hoped for.

She licked her lips and then leaned forward to brush her mouth against his but quickly retreated, her fingers digging hard into his arm. “Today…”

“I know.” he said, sparing her the need to say where she had actually been that day and what she had been doing - or _who_. Debts had to be paid, he understood. It made him _furious_ but he understood. “That’s not something we can always promise to each other.” _Being faithful_ was a luxury in their line of work. He was grateful she would soon be out of the Games business but he wasn’t fooling himself about his own chances. “It’s no different than before.”

They had never really talked about becoming exclusive, it was something that had _happened_. And yet… And yet there had been other men and women over the years. Never by choice. Not always as a mean to an end. They never talked about it. They didn’t matter.

“I want a life with you too.” she declared. This time there was nothing hesitant at all to her kiss.

He felt something settle between them at that moment, the tranquil certainty this wasn’t something they were entering out of a lack of options or because they were forced into it but because… Because they really, _truly_ wanted a shot at it. It didn’t scare him as much as it used to. They would use her as a pressure point either way, there was no use keeping her at arm length anymore… So he might as well embrace it, embrace her, embrace the life they could have… No more pretenses. No more hiding. At least on that front.

When they escorted Peeta to the train station, she was holding his arm as usual.

Haymitch couldn’t help but stare at that train, the knowledge that Katniss’ body was somewhere in one of the cars a sharp tinge in his heart. Peeta hugged Effie goodbye, promised to keep in touch, and then turned to him. He was uneasy when the boy hugged him and almost _begged_ him not to be a stranger but Haymitch gave a slow nod all the same. He wasn’t sure he would be able to follow through.

When he and Effie walked out of the train station, they were holding hands.

If the frantic clicking of numerous cameras was any indication: fans noticed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many important conversations.... Did you like it? Let me know!


	44. Mingling

Haymitch downed the two white pills with a gulp of the plastic bottle of water he had found in the car’s mini-bar, hoping the headache would go away soon. He strongly doubted it, not given that they were on their way to a party where the music would probably be loud and atrocious, but he still hoped.

They had recorded several interviews that day that would be aired later in the week – well, _Haymitch_ had recorded several interviews, Effie had mostly remained backstage and made sure everything went without a hitch – and it had left him exhausted. The effort it took to remain cocky and slightly charming when all he wanted was to shout about the Capitol’s stupidity…

_Necessary evil_ , Effie had promised. He knew there would be more of them. There had been enough shows and parties in the last couple of days to make anyone feel dizzy. There were only three victors left in the city now, including him, everyone else had gone home. One of them was staying for medical reasons – and it went to show that they were very short on the victors front that the Gamemakers were willing to invest in an old man’s health – and the other was a twenty-something puppy from Three who had won a few years earlier and who wasn’t hiding his plan to make the most of the sudden power vacuum.

Raye Adams wanted to be the new Finnick Odair. That was his funeral as far as Haymitch was concerned, he would simply have liked it better if the kid had stopped following him around, hoping to be splashed by his sudden rekindled fame. He wasn’t very fond of the young victor. Too much of an ambitious jerk.

Why, the way he had dismissed Effie the other day, asking her to fetch him another drink as if she was a waitress ready to comply to his every wishes and calling her _darling_ as if he had any right to the pet name… Her reaction had almost made it worth it though. Effie had batted her fake eyelashes once, had looked him up and down and had looped her arms around one of Haymitch’s, loudly thanking providence that she had been assigned to _a real victor_. That had sent the kid into a quiet offended rage. He had taken exactly _one_ threatening step. Haymitch had glared at him and had told him in a calm detached voice to think long and hard about what he was doing. Raye had left, red in the face and not very happy about being chastised. He had been back though. Haymitch’s spotlight was too tempting for him.

A gentle hand on his arm brought him back to Earth and he stopped staring through the window without really seeing what was happening outside to turn to his escort. She was wearing a blue dress that looked like it was made of running water. It rippled and gleamed under the light, the diamonds around her neck and wrists only adding to the effect. The moss green wig on her head was cut in a wavy short bob, a style that suited her enough that he could almost forget the color.

“We are almost there.” she warned.

“Where are we going tonight?” he asked, not having paid attention earlier when she had laid out the outfit he was supposed to wear. They were matching he realized, although it was subtle. The blue embroideries on his waistcoat were the exact same color as her dress.

She pursed her lips, not pleased by his lack of attention probably. “A birthday party. It won’t be a grand affair and I do not expect any camera. It isn’t a Games event and there shouldn’t be many sponsors. It will be a different crowd than the one you are used to.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Why are we going, then?”

They were usually kept on a schedule. Effie picked and chose the events they attended – _he_ had to attend, really – but he was certain she was given a list of suggestions to begin with. Although, he supposed that the season was over now and official Games events would become few and far in between. It would all be about bringing the legendary Quell victor to private parties now and to official governmental events to give them a certain… _flair_.

“Because I have known Celeste since infancy and it would be rude of me not to attend.” Effie answered.

He frowned, understanding suddenly dawning on him. “Oh. They’re your friends, those people.”

She hesitated, briefly twisting the iris shaped ring around her finger in an unconscious nervous gesture. “I suppose that is the term one would employ. I would advise _against_ trusting any of them though.”

“Cause I’m usually such a trusting kind of guy.” he taunted.

Her lips stretched into an amused grin before she could school her expression into a disapproving pout. “There won’t be cameras but it will be all over the city before the end of the night that we were here _together_ … And since there is no real reason for you to attend other than escorting me…”

“Okay.” he shrugged.

They hadn’t made a lot of progress on _that_ front. Questions were raised about their relationship but they eluded them out of habit and weren’t quite certain how to just… _come out and say it_. Haymitch was sick and tired of the empty Center though. The penthouse felt like a prison and he was ready to move out as soon as Effie judged it wise. People were already asking when he was planning on going back to Twelve… He hadn’t yet made it clear he wasn’t.

“There will be alcohol.” she warned as the car slowed down to a stop. She didn’t make a move to open the car door.

He swallowed hard. “Sweetheart…”

She looked down at the sparkly clutch on her knees. “I am not asking you… I know _why_ you drink, Haymitch. I know why you feel you need it. And I understand that the Quell probably made that worse but… When we are in public…”

“I’m gonna try to keep off the stuff.” he cut her off. His face burned with embarrassment and he rubbed his brow. The headache wasn’t gone and he really didn’t want to have this conversation. “I’m not saying I’m gonna make it… Don’t know how long I _can_ make it… But…”

 It was too dangerous.  He had come to that conclusion after his stupid stunt with the sleeping pills. When he was drunk, he wasn’t in control and he needed to _be_ in control, all the more so if he was supposed to live in the den amongst the wolves. The sharp memories of withdrawals weren’t an incentive for him to pick a bottle again either. He was only too aware how much of a liability booze was. What if he got addicted again only for Snow to cut his supplies once more? He would die this time around. He was sure of it. And while that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in his book, it would leave Effie and the boy without protection. He was at the point where the thirst was something he could sometimes forget about. He wished for a drink more out of habit than out of need. It wasn’t easy, particularly when nightmares plagued him… But he thought he could hold on some more. And he hoped that, at some point, holding on wouldn’t be so hard anymore.

“I’m gonna try, yeah?” he awkwardly muttered. There was pride in her eyes and it made him even more embarrassed. “We’re gonna be late.” 

An amused smile played on her lips. “Well, we wouldn’t be if you would do the gentlemanly thing and run around to open my door.”

He rolled his eyes. “Never gonna happen.”

She let out a theatrical annoyed sigh and opened the door herself. “You are _insufferable_.”

It was more fond than irritated.

It was refreshing to get out of a car and not be assaulted by flashes, calls of his name and pleas for his signature or his picture. The street was calm, it was a classy residential area where rows of respectable houses were lined up with obsessive preciseness… The house in front of them was full of light, music was drifting out as well as laughter and the occasional happy shriek.

He followed Effie to the front door, feeling out of place.

She didn’t bother ringing the doorbell or knocking – and it was probably wise because he was sure that nobody would have heard it – she made her way inside, holding out the door for him, lifting her eyebrows as it sudden obvious reluctance.

She had said it wasn’t the crowd he was used to… She was right. He was used to fancy expensive Capitol parties, this looked more like what he would have found at one of the clubs in town. People weren’t quite as stiff, the waiters and waitresses in dark uniforms weren’t Avoxes, and while looking just as ridiculous as Capitols always did, those people seemed a little less eager to impress.

He figured out without having to ask Effie that this party wasn’t exactly upper class. At least, not the upper class _they_ were used to. They were certainly rich but they didn’t have the pedigree that went with it.

“Effie! I wasn’t sure you would make it!” a woman with a vivid orange wig screamed. His escort was briefly swallowed by a gaggle of Capitols and he watched, staying a step behind, as they exchanged air kisses and small talk about everyone’s good health. Eventually, _orange wig’_ s eyes fell on him and she stopped mid-sentence to gape, making him even more uncomfortable. He buried his hands in his pockets and winced when the woman stared. “Oh, my _goodness_!”

Effie was back at his side in a flash, fishing one of his hands directly from his pocket, with a  sheepish smile. “I hope you do not mind, Celeste… I know I RSVP as alone but…”

“You brought Haymitch Abernathy to my birthday party.” Celeste stated bluntly, as if in shock. “I couldn’t even get _tickets_ to the Crowning, it’s almost impossible to get close enough at red carpets and you brought him to _my birthday party_.”

The three other women who had jumped on Effie seemed equally impressed with his presence and Haymitch didn’t know if he ought to be amused or…

“Haymitch, this is my good friend Celeste Astworth.” Effie introduced them without further ado. “Celeste… I am assuming introductions aren’t necessary.”

Haymitch outstretched the hand Effie wasn’t holding. The woman shook it for far longer than was normal.

He had dealt with that kind of bemused fans before. Most of them were harmless. It wasn’t his favorite thing but he indulged her, hoping not everyone in that house would react the same way. He flashed her a smirk. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Celeste giggled, still shaking his hand.

He glanced at Effie for help but she seemed to find the situation hilarious.

“You will make her party _the place to be_ tonight.” she explained with a grin. “That should warrant quite a few articles in the newspapers. Happy birthday.”

Celeste looked over the moon.

Haymitch thought it was the cheapest birthday present he had ever seen. Trust Effie…

“You mind if I get my hand back?” he joked.

The woman seemed to remember herself and let go of his fingers, flushing a bright shade of red. “My apologies! Oh, Effie, I _ought_ to chide you! If I had known I would have… This was supposed to be a night between friends, you understand...” Those words were directed at Haymitch. “If I had known to expect more distinguished guests…”

“I’m sure everything’s fine, sweetheart.” he told her.

She almost _swooned_ at being called by that pet name.

Effie’s grip became a tad firmer on his hand and she introduced him to the other women without waiting for Celeste to answer. They were a little more composed fortunately.

For _a_ _party between friends_ the house was _crowded_ with people. Effie knew everyone, it seemed, but he quickly lost track of names and faces. He identified a couple of people as regular sponsors but they were in the minority.

Effie’s friends were crazy people but he wasn’t really surprised.

It wasn’t his scene at all and he hung back most of the time, sipping from the alcohol free cocktail Celeste had only been too happy to fetch for him, trying and failing to pretend he belonged in that sea of bright colors and idiotic people. Most people Effie stopped to talk to were in the fashion industry and he was bored out of his mind. She must have realized because she steered him toward a group of men who looked less _flamboyant_ than the others.

She was welcomed with appreciative looks and predatory smiles that made him let go of her hand to place an arm around her shoulders in an instinctive claim. She automatically melt against his chest, not even batting an eyelash at the public display.

She greeted each of them by name far too ridiculous for him to remember them but her attention remained on the one with curly bleached blond hair. “Aspecus, may I entrust Haymitch to you? I am afraid talks of frills and lace bore him.”

Alarmed at the prospect of being left alone with those people, Haymitch tried to protest but she was already gone with a peck on the corner of his lips.

“Who wouldn’t be bored.” the man with purple hair on his left complained before downing his glass. “I swear, Pec, your wife always _only_ invites stylists and models.”

Aspecus – Pec for short, it seemed – gave a helpless shrug. “Her party, her rules. So, not a fan of fashion, Haymitch?”

“Can’t say I care much for it, no.” he snorted.

“I’m surprised you would come to this kind of party…” the third man commented carefully. “It is a far cry from the City Circle. No offense, Pec.”

That one, Haymitch recognized. Maneo, he thought. The name was Gellert Maneo or something like that… He did sponsor sometimes although not every year.

“I guess I’m Effie’s present to the birthday girl.” he admitted.

“Are you?” Pec laughed. “Celeste will certainly be happy with that. She is a great fan of the Games.”

Haymitch tried not to cringe.

“I see.” Maneo said quietly at the same time.

And Haymitch thought maybe he _did_ see, which made him cringe even further. “Not like _that_.”

“Like what?” purple hair asked, clearly confused by the long look Haymitch and the sponsor were exchanging.

Maneo took a sip of what Haymitch suspected to be whiskey. “So, Sal, what were you saying about the pearl market?”

As it turned out, the men were businessmen. There were plenty of those amongst the sponsors but Haymitch had never really had an opportunity to talk about… _business_ before and it was more interesting than he would have cared to admit. They were still shallow people – he didn’t think he would ever find anyone in the city who _wasn’t_ shallow – but they were more pragmatic than most. They weren’t stupid either and that made it easier for him to eventually relax and enjoy the conversation that, for once, didn’t revolve around fashion, the Games or who was screwing who.

It was plain to see they were surprised he could hold his own in debates. Politics was avoided – probably because it was rude or whatever but since that suited him just fine, it was alright – but Haymitch wasn’t that bad at other topics like literature, philosophy or ancient history.

“There’s not much else to do in Twelve other than read.” he awkwardly answered Sal’s diplomatic enquiries as to where he had gone to school, feeling embarrassed for no good reason. He had no university degree to boost, no degree at all to be honest since he hadn’t even finished high school, but that didn’t mean he was stupid.

All in all, he finally admitted after a whole hour of talking to them that the party wasn’t _that_ bad. Down to Earth people, he could deal with. Still, he was a little surprised when Pec asked if he wanted to have dinner with them the following week – mainly because it sounded like a genuine invitation and not something born out of a need to be seen with _the Quell’s victor_. He had been wondering why Effie had kept in touch with people who were so obviously beneath her in the food chain, now he was getting a clearer picture. She might not trust them – and that was wise because who could trust anyone in the Capitol? – but they were certainly a nice change from the pompous people they had to deal with on an everyday basis.

“Here you are!” Celeste eventually appeared, wrapping her arms around Pec’s waist. “You are _not_ mingling. Very rude.”

Effie wasn’t far behind her. Her blue eyes studied him and she must have come to the conclusion Haymitch wasn’t in need of a rescue because she flashed him that smug _I know better_ smile. He rolled his eyes at her but didn’t protest when she leaned against his side. If her friends were surprised by their behavior, they didn’t let on.

“You were doing _so well_ by yourself, my love, I did not want to rain on your parade.” Aspecus smoothly replied.

Celeste looked pleased by the compliment but her attention soon settled on the victor. “Are you having fun, Haymitch? I hope my husband and their friends stopped talking shop long enough to make sure you have everything you need…”

“I’m good, thanks.” he answered.

He was rewarded for this small polite act by fingers brushing against his, loosely entwining them together. He looked at Effie, a little surprised to realize she looked content, not quite harried or eager like she usually was at official parties but… _relaxed_. She still had her bubbly persona on but it was a bit toned down. Probably because there were no sponsors to impress. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that he was just there to serve as a birthday present or because gossip rags would have something to say about her bringing him to a private party… This was something else. She had clearly known those people a long time and she felt comfortable around them. She had brought him on her turf. This was a test of sort, to see if he could fit in her life.

“How am I doing?” he asked in a low voice and with a small unimpressed smirk while the Capitols were having a loud debate about a reality TV show or other.

She probably had expected him to figure it out at some point because she grinned. “You are passing with flying colors.” He shook his head at her and she tilted hers to the side, studying him. “Are you mad? I thought you and Pec might hit it off.” She wrinkled her nose. “He and his friends are a little boring, Celeste always complains about it. I thought they might be to your liking.”

“Cause I’m boring too?” he taunted.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and it was an automatic response to circle her waist with his. There was some staring and he was sure a few pictures were covertly taken but he didn’t really mind. That was the point, wasn’t it?

“Most Capitols would think so.” she hummed as he tightened his hold on her, bringing her even closer.

“And you?” he snorted.

“I know better.” she chuckled, leaning in to whisper in his ear all the _not boring_ things she wanted him to do to her later. It was very hard to keep countenance or to resist dragging her back to the penthouse right then.

“Minx.” he accused in her neck.

“I _am_ sorry to interrupt but I think it is _high_ time for Pec to go fetch the cake in the kitchen and to start singing while I stand here and look surprised.” Celeste cut in with obvious amusement, clearing her throat. “Perhaps, Haymitch, you would be _so_ kind as to help him? If you wouldn’t mind. I trust you can light a few candles without almost burning the house down.”

Pec rolled his eyes. “The match slipped through my fingers _once_ and there was _no_ damage. How long will you keep holding this over my head?”

Celeste’s look clearly indicated it would be a very long time indeed.

Effie dropped her arms and thus he had no choice but to follow Pec, a bit annoyed to have to let go of his escort. Still, the ruse was obvious because he wasn’t two feet away when Celeste loudly squealed. “ _How_ did this happen? _When_ did this happen? Is it _serious_? _How_ serious?! You _have_ to share the gossip, Effie! Oh, this is _the best_ birthday _ever_!”

All in all, it wasn’t the worst time he had had in the city.

He was startled to realize when they climbed back into the car that he had actually had a good enough time and that he hadn’t thought about the Quell in a couple of hours. The easy friendship between Pec and the others had made him miss Chaff but the dull ache had been eased by their willingness to include him.

He hadn’t quite meant to make plans with them but he had accepted the pressing invitation to get together some time in the following week.

Maybe, he thought as Effie’s head rested against his shoulder, just maybe he could find a place in this city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Can Haymitch fit in her world? Will they _ever_ manage to publicly come out? Can he stay sober? What do you think?


	45. Catching Up

Haymitch was dying of boredom and welcomed Effie’s purposeful strides toward him with relief. The party was full of government officials and the occasional celebrity to spice it up. He had been ordered there by Heavensbee and he wasn’t really happy about it. If he had to listen to someone else disparage the Districts and then wait for him to nod as if he agreed… How that kid from Three did it without an ounce of shame, he wasn’t sure. The younger victor looked almost eager to screw up the food chain.

“Dance with me.” Effie hissed before she was even within reach.

He let her grab his hand and drag him to the dance floor without a word of protest, content to know he wouldn’t be preyed upon by insufferable people for the foreseeable five minutes. More if he could snatch another dance even.

Effie was troubled, that was plain to see.

Her smile was strained and she kept darting nervous glances around.

“What’s up?” he asked, once she had her arms around his neck and they were swaying to the soft classical music.

Her smile turned into a very displeased pout. “Do you see the woman in a pink dress next to the bar?”

He took his time to look so it wouldn’t be obvious and he wouldn’t get caught. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally meet anyone’s eyes and encourage an approach. _Especially_ women with money who had an interest in him. He had been good at avoiding any unwanted attention so far but…

The woman in question was plump, clad in puffy fabric and an awful purple wig.

“Yeah.” he confirmed, wondering what she was aiming at. You never knew with Effie. Either she was a potential sponsor they needed to connect with for the following year or she was one of her eternal model rivals or…

“She is the daughter of the Secretary of Communication. I have it on good authority she wants to spend some alone time with you.” she gritted through her teeth.

He froze and they would probably have stumbled if Effie hadn’t kept them swaying as if nothing was amiss. It felt like an icy bucket of water had been poured over his head. He chanced another glance at the woman and wondered if his escort could find him some magic pills because there was no way he could get it up for _that_.

“We always knew that was a possibility.” he said flatly, purposefully _detached_. It wouldn’t serve anyone to let them know he was angry or…

He was surprised it hadn’t happened before, truth be told. He had won almost three weeks earlier now and he would have thought…

“She is a romantic.” Effie growled. “I believe your heart is her ultimate prize, not your body.”

“Fat chance of that.” he snorted, reporting his attention on his escort with a fondness he didn’t bother to hide.

“Indeed.” she huffed. He wasn’t expecting the hand she coiled at the back of his neck or the gentle tug and he was startled by the violent kiss she planted on his lips. She drew back from his unresponsive mouth only far enough to toss him a mild glare. “Give them a show, Haymitch.”

_Give them a show_ …

Well, they had been dancing around the issue for long enough anyway, he figured.

There was nothing hesitant to the way he kissed her next. It was familiar, born from habits, not quite as brutal as the one she had bestowed but intense all the same. He licked at her bottom lip, waited until she opened her mouth to slip his tongue in, made it clear without a doubt to anyone who was watching that this wasn’t their first dance at all…

They parted eventually, desperate for some air… He didn’t let her have her full before he kissed her again.

He could feel the stares, the not quite pleased murmurs at the impropriety of such behavior mixed with the delighted squeals of fresh gossip… He didn’t really care. As always when he was kissing her, his whole world revolved around her.

The kiss grew heated for a moment until she seemed to remember where they were and cooled it down. It ended in a series of long pecks. He smirked at how flushed she was but she didn’t look repentant at all. She patted her wig and licked her lips before brushing her thumb on his mouth to catch the wayward marks of her lipstick.

She cleared her throat. “That should hopefully carry my point across.”

He tightened his hold on her, eyes sparkling in mirth. “Maybe we should make _sure_.”

He attacked her neck with his lips and teeth, prompting her to laugh and mockingly push him away. He desisted but only because they were in public and he thought they had _indeed_ made their point. He didn’t want them to become a spectacle either.

Although it might become a necessary evil. People talked of little else but them for the rest of the night.

The woman in pink turned away with clear disappointment and Effie remained glued to his side, her hand firmly gripping his. He wasn’t sure at which point they had become one of those couples who held hands everywhere they went but it was happening more and more lately. Maybe it was an unconscious thing, maybe they were scared of being torn apart again… He would have minded once upon a time, both the implicit claim of ownership and dangerous public display… He welcomed it now because it was good to know he wasn’t alone.

He waited until they were back to the penthouse to gently brush hesitant knuckles along her nape. “I won’t escape them forever, you know that, sweetheart, yeah?”

He didn’t need to clarify and he didn’t really want to. This wasn’t something they had ever really _discussed_ in their thirteen years of working together. It was left to the limbo for a reason. She couldn’t go and put herself in the middle every time because, at some point, someone would take offence and the whole goal was to keep her _safe_.  

Her jaw clenched but she gave a brief shaky nod.

°O°O°O°

“So…” Caesar dropped his voice with clear anticipation, leaning a little toward them in his big red chair.

Haymitch braced himself for the questions he knew were coming. Next to him, Effie tensed too, even though it was less perceptible. Her bright delighted smile was in place, her eyes were wide open, her feather eyelashes kept fluttering up and down… Haymitch had to force himself _not_ to fidget, uncomfortable with the whole thing. He was a private man, that was _who_ he was, the perspective of exposing his whole life on TV wasn’t exactly thrilling to him. _Needs must_ , he reminded himself.

He had won four weeks earlier now. They had been sneaking around, more or less revealing themselves by taking walks holding hands or getting caught kissing here and there… Not all of it had been planned either because Effie was determined to make him see he could find a place in her city… He had met with her friends once or twice – for Capitols Aspecus and the other businessmen weren’t _that_ unbearable – and they had spent a couple of nights at her place but they were still mainly living in the penthouse and _that_ was quickly becoming a problem for him. He felt trapped there.

His face was hitching because of the thick layer of foundation powder the prep team had been forced to use to hide the dark bags under his eyes. His sleep was poor. He tossed and turned all night or pretended to read a book to ignore the ghosts lurking in the shadows… When he finally dropped from exhaustion it was usually to wake up gasping for breath, his right hand looking for an imaginary weapon and his left one clutching his stomach to keep his guts inside… It often took Effie several minutes to bring him back and she didn’t look any more rested than he did.

She was good at waking up and leaving the bed when he started thrashing but he was terrified sick of accidentally hurting her. He had tried to sneak to his own room or to the couch once she had fallen asleep but every time she woke up and found him gone, she either ranted about him being an idiot or joined him while _he_ was asleep - and _that_ was even worse since he was certain that if he _knew_ she was with him when he drifted off, his unconscious must have taken it into account at least a little.

Physically, he was completely recovered now. The bruises were long gone and, if his ribs ached now and then, it was a dull sort of pain he could easily ignore. The headaches and the tremors in his hands were more difficult to live with but he had grown used to them. He had also grown used to craving a drink every minute of every day. It didn’t make it easier to resist, particularly at parties or events where they were _surrounded_ by alcohol, but so far so good.

Mentally, it was another story. He was aware the night terrors and the occasional flashback were only the tip of the iceberg. He still tended to spend hours in the shower if he forgot himself and obsessed over imaginary blood on his hands or under his fingernails. He still couldn’t bring himself to talk to Peeta on the phone when he called, leaving to Effie the role of playing buffer. He had panic attacks sometimes, something he was painfully keeping from his escort by hiding in the closest bathroom until it went away – because he felt it was humiliating that he couldn’t control himself better and he had been humiliated enough times in front of her. His mind played tricks on him, the ghosts came to visit him at night, the guilt often made it impossible for him to _breathe…_

“If you have a particular question for us, Caesar, I would advise you to ask it.” Effie chuckled and the cheerfulness in her voice made it seem as if she was over the moon. Or high. Or both.

The last half-hour of interview had consisted in _catching up,_ as they called it, which really meant Caesar had asked questions about what he had been doing since the Crowning – his cue to _thank_ the Capitol for its generosity and so forth – and about how he was doing with mourning Katniss, how Peeta was doing…

It had been enough to make him less than receptive to the following charade. He understood why it was a necessity to play it this way, he understood the Games were played at different levels and were bigger than just the arena but…

“Very well!” Caesar laughed. “It has been a little over a month now and your team has _yet_ to announce a date for Haymitch’s departure for Twelve…”

“You want me gone so badly?” Haymitch taunted automatically, because it was his role and he knew the lines.

“Not at all!” the host protested. “I am just curious… It is _unusual_ for you to linger so long in our beautiful city…”

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged. “Might linger for a little longer this time around.”

Caesar made a show of looking at the camera with a wink before flashing them a benevolent smile. “May I ask _why_?”

He rolled his eyes, his patience getting short. “You _know_ why.”

“Haymitch.” Effie hissed in warning. He didn’t really need the additional elbow she knocked in his side and he spared her a short annoyed glare.

“I certainly can _guess_.” Caesar replied without missing a beat. “However since either of you has yet to _confirm_ … For instance, there were quite a few speculations about that bangle around your wrist… It was your token, wasn’t it? And you are _still_ wearing it even if it is a little worse for the wear – I hope you don’t mind me saying. Did someone special give it to you?”

“ _Effie_ gave it to me.” Haymitch sighed, unable to quite contain his irritation.  “So yeah… I’m still wearing it even if it looks ridiculous.”

“Why, _thank you_.” his escort huffed with a pout that wasn’t fake.

His goal hadn’t been to antagonize _her_ and he made a face, a bit anxious that she would go on a sex strike or find another way to make him pay for that – there was a line in the sand in terms of offenses and if he hurt her feelings a bit too much, he would find himself in the doghouse really fast.

“I hate it and I’m still wearing it. Should tell you everything you need to know, sweetheart.” he muttered, his voice softening enough that her pout gradually faded. His grey eyes turned to Caesar, his tone a bit scolding. “Should tell _you_ too.”

“Oh, I believe, I am quite certain of what is going on between the two of you. I have been quite certain for _years_ , truth be told.” the host teased. “How long exactly has this affair been going on? Or are you still going to deny the obvious?”

“We won’t deny anything anymore.” Effie cut in before he could answer. Her hand reached for his and he turned his palm without a second thought, entwining their fingers. “And to answer your question… We have been together on and off for… I would say give or take a decade.”

“Yeah.” he confirmed. Even if at first it had been more about accidentally having sex and being very confused about it. It had only been more serious for the last five years, he thought, although he had refused to admit it or to let her say anything about it. “Give or take.”

Caesar looked a bit surprised and Haymitch couldn’t quite tell if it was fake or genuine. “That _is_ a long time.”

“Indeed.” Effie chuckled without any amusement. “It is a long time to be apart and, to be very honest, we were very foolish. We preferred to pretend that we were not serious because it saved us the heartbreak of a long separation. Haymitch, as you pointed out, has always preferred to spend time in Twelve when the Games weren’t in session.”

It was a little closer to the truth than Haymitch was comfortable with and he awkwardly shifted in his seat. She squeezed his fingers in answer.

Caesar’s smile was sympathetic. “I suppose I don’t need to ask what changed…”

“The Quell was an electroshock, yes.” she stated sadly. “We were all very clear on who we wanted to win in our team…” She paused and Haymitch looked down, jaw clenched. “That is… What happened to Katniss was… _unfortunate_. We all really wanted for her to…”

She faltered again and, this time, it was Haymitch who pressed her hand.

“We wanted the girl to win.” he finished for her. “We wanted the kids to have a shot at being together.”

Any prolonged talk about Katniss, when it was in relation to his or Peeta’s grief, had been a bit taboo. Haymitch figured Snow didn’t want to inspire any more rebellious thoughts or turn the kid into a martyr. It was a fine line to tread but they were supposed to keep on the pathos rather build her up to be a hero. 

“When Haymitch left for the Games, you thought it was the last time you would see him, then, Effie?” Caesar asked.

“Yes.” she offered and he didn’t think he was imagining the crack in her voice. This was hitting a little too close to home. She cleared her throat. “It was difficult.”

“I can imagine.” the host sympathized, leaning forward to pat her knee in a comforting gesture. “I suppose Haymitch winning must have felt like a second chance.”

“We’re together.” Haymitch declared, cutting down to the chase. “And I’m not planning on going back to Twelve in the immediate future.”

“Well.” Caesar grinned. “I think I speak for the whole Capitol when I say we are happy to have you.” Haymitch doubted the whole city was happy to have him but he simply nodded his thanks, relaxing a little. There, that was done. That should help promote Panem unity – which would make Snow happy – and it would also help keep people who wanted to bed them off their back – which would make _them_ happy. The host wasn’t done though. He nudged Effie’s knee with a scheming smile. “Now… Tell us _everything_. How did it start?”

They exchanged a glance and it was all it took for Haymitch to know what she would answer would be a revised version of the truth. Of course, she couldn’t appear like a one-night-stand kind of girl, that wasn’t her public persona at all.

He was content to let her take the lead, only cracking a joke now and then for appearance sake.

He did breathe a sigh of relief when the cameras were finally turned off and Caesar had shaken their hands and sent them on their way. There would be a lot more interviews after this probably. People would all want a piece of their story…

“Now what?” he asked, as they slipped through the recording studio’s backdoor to avoid the crowd at the front.

“Now we can finally go home.” she whispered.

 


	46. To Paint Over His Grey

Effie’s apartment looked like a candy store. There were colors _everywhere_. The hallways were a deep orange, the living-room was mostly pink, the kitchen was yellow, the bedroom was red, the bathroom was blue and the guestroom green… Haymitch hated it because it was over ridiculous but he also loved it a little because it was so _her_ it was comforting. He liked the voluminous curtains and the cluttered – but tasteful, he had been told – decoration. He hated it but he liked it. It was a paradox he had soon reconciled with.

He sank in the colors.

His whole world was so dark it was almost a relief.

Almost five months after his victory and only a few weeks before the Tour, the whirlwind had finally calmed down enough to leave him in the eye of the storm. There had been many interviews after he and Effie had come out as a couple, many photoshoots for the two of them, a lot of public exposure that he could have done without. Couple that with being the two-times Quarter Quell victor and it had been _very_ unbearable for him for a while.

Now though… Now it was mostly making an appearance at some party twice a week, keeping important people happy by showing up when the request came though, and sometimes, once in a while, _entertaining_ the person Heavensbee made it clear to his escort he was supposed to entertain. That was his life now. He went where they told him to go, did what they told him to do and waited for more instructions lying on Effie’s couch and staring at the pink wall, wondering _why_ he had even come back in the first place.

He wasn’t exactly doing better with the guilt or the ghosts. More than once he had almost broken his resolve and rushed to the closest bar or liquor store. Particularly after strangers’ hands had roamed on him for hours.

That was punishment to him, in a way, and a twisted part of him welcomed it, welcomed the torture because _he deserved it_.

He craved oblivion but he wouldn’t allow it to himself. That was punishment too.

He smoked Effie’s cigarettes instead, scoffing at her every time she claimed they would stop only to come back with more packets. She wasn’t doing much better than he was but he didn’t know how to help, didn’t really have the energy to _try_ to help to be honest…

He was wondering when she would realize she had made a mistake and kick him out of her life and back to the penthouse.

She was busy. She was preparing her reconversion – taking jobs as a model, posing for prestigious photoshoots, making contacts in the fashion industry, having lunch after lunch with Faun Harwyn – when she wasn’t doing her job as his escort and he knew she was growing extremely frustrated with coming home after a long day at work to find him on her couch, in the exact position she had left him in the morning.

The thing was… He had no place in this city, no purpose, no idea what to do with his life… So he did what he had always done in Twelve, minus the booze, he wasted his life away, pacing between four walls or staring at the ceiling and wallowing in the memories he would rather forget. He had tried, he _had_. He saw her businessmen friends sometimes, the men were nice enough and it felt a bit like having friends of his own but… They didn’t come from the same world and at some point he always said or did something that reminded everyone of that. It wasn’t that he was ashamed but it prevented him from completely fitting in.

He had never minded embarrassing her before, it had been a game, a challenge to rile her up… Now, it was different. He didn’t know why or how but it had shifted. She had always said that his behavior reflected on her and he had always dismissed it as a good joke but now he was aware of that fact more acutely than ever. He was her _partner_ for lack of a better word, not just her _victor,_ and it implied not sabotaging her at every turn – not when she was the only thing he had left in the world.

But for how long?

The question haunted him and not even the pink wall he was staring at could distract him from it.

He knew Effie. She had pledged herself to him when they had shared that mock toasting but that marriage had never been meant to last. It had been a joke of a wedding, something to smooth their sorrow, to give them something to hold on to in the hard times that would follow… It had never been meant to last. But Effie would feel honor bound to respect her vows and to stay with him and…

He heard the talks at parties, he saw the shows and read the headlines on the gossip rags… Nobody expected this to last simply because _nobody_ from the Capitol would ever settle _permanently_ with a District person. The very fact they were living together was probably a first in the history of the Games. Having an affair with a victor was a good thing, it was prestigious, good for one’s reputation… Having a fling was thrilling, it made people sympathetic when one of the two parties involved broke it off…

But _permanently settling_ with a victor?

Nobody believed in that. It was a small scandal in itself that they made it look as if that was what they were aiming for. He was attentive to what the Gamemakers had to say about it but, on that front, everything was calm. He knew that at the smallest hint he would have to leave her, to protect her… But on the other fronts though…

She had been dodging calls from her family for weeks. Her mother had left more messages on her answering machine than he could count – and not all of them amiable. It seemed her parents weren’t entirely certain of what she was playing at, if it was a publicity stunt or if she was being serious with her public claim that she and Haymitch were in love and intended to _stay_ together. She talked to her sister sometimes but he was never privy to _those_ conversations – Lyssandra, it had been tacitly established, was _off limit_ to him, Effie’s unfounded jealousy too big to be ignored.

Her friends, he supposed, were telling her the same thing. It was _madness_. It had never been done before. She would be better off marrying a nice Capitol man once she was done having her fun with him…

It was a lot of pressure and he spent his days on her couch, wearing sweatpants and not much else, and staring at the wall. Not much of a catch. Not much of a man anymore. Not much of anything.

The jingling of keys turning in the lock had him closing his eyes, not impatient to have to deal with her disappointment when she would realize he had spent another day wasting away. His book was abandoned untouched on the coffee table, the ashtray was full – something she had most likely asked him to clean up before leaving – and he hadn’t gotten dressed at all.

He hoped he wouldn’t be forced to go out that night. He let her go to parties on her own when his presence wasn’t explicitly required and it didn’t help bridge the gap between their ways of life. He had always known living together wouldn’t be easy, he had had no idea it would be like _that._ It was frightening how little they had in common aside for their grief, their feelings and the lust.

He wasn’t sure it could last. Not on an everyday basis. Maybe they had only be meant to get together a few weeks a year, just enough to keep the spark alive and…

“Oh, Haymitch…” she sighed when she spotted him. The quiet disappointment was the worst, he decided. “I thought you were going to go to the park today? There was this chess competition you wanted to check, wasn’t there?”

“Fell asleep.” he lied. The park was no park. It was full of people who would stop him every two feet to ask for a picture or his signature and no chess competition was worth that.

She knew he wasn’t telling the truth but she didn’t call him out on it. She pursed her lips and disappeared in the direction of the bedroom. After a few minutes, he followed, leaning against the doorframe while she got rid of her battle armor. He watched her sit at her dressing table and remove the fake eyelashes first before grabbing the wipes that would erase the make-up.

“We’ve got nothing planned tonight, yeah?” he asked.

“No.” she replied. “There is a new movie I would like to see though… And there is this restaurant I wouldn’t mind trying… They have a new chef.”

“Oh.” He made a face. “You’re going out with your friend, then?”

Disappointment flashed on her face but she schooled her features before he could ask what he had done wrong _now_. “No. Not tonight. Could you order take-out?”

They lived on take-out food and on leftovers from take-out food. Sometimes, at his most cynical, he wondered why she even had a kitchen since she never used it. He wasn’t sure she even knew how to boil water – she had an electrical kettle for that. She never went grocery shopping either – she had _people_ for that – and thus the cupboards remained empty. He wasn’t a great cook but he could do at least _some_ things behind a stove.

The few times he had bothered to cook her breakfast or some sort of dinner she had stared at him as if he was a gift sent from above or a very rare exotic specimen. It wasn’t even _that_ good but no man had ever cooked for her before and that justified some unrestrained admiration. Given that she had _thoroughly_ thanked him with her mouth afterwards, he had refrained from mocking her – too much.

“What do you want?” he asked.

She hummed while taking pins off her pink wig, clearly deliberating. “Spinach lasagnas from _Alfredo’s_. Oh, and their garlic bread, please.”

He lingered a little longer before making the call, letting his eyes wander on her appealing figure. They were on rocky ground, he felt it, but he didn’t know how to fix it.

He had just put the phone down when she walked out of the bedroom, blond hair loose on her shoulders, wearing soft blue silky shorts and a purple lacy top under her open white dressing gown.

“I met my replacement today.” she announced, sitting down on the couch. She curled up against the back, propping her chin on her knees to look at him. “Her name is Alys, she was a singer in a band that split a couple of months ago.”

The reminder that he would have to deal with an escort that wasn’t her wasn’t exactly welcomed. He wrinkled his nose. “How bad?”

She distractedly played with the iris shaped ring, making it turn around her finger. “She is young and naïve but she seemed eager to learn to me. I was thinking about… If Plutarch will allow it, I want to invite her along for the Tour. Officially, she can familiarize herself with the team. Unofficially, I can coach her into the basics.”

His jaw clenched and he averted his eyes, staring at the skyscrapers line through the window. “When does she take your place? Officially.”

Effie hesitated. “As I understood it, there is a special program in the work centered around escorts. With so many of us being replaced, they will make a show of introducing the new ones and of us passing the flame along, I suppose. It should take place between the end of the Tour and the Reaping.”

He dropped on the couch next to her and let his head roll back with a sigh. “Do whatever you want.”

“Such enthusiasm.” she snapped, her patience clearly running short.

“You want me to leap in joy?” he scowled. “I’m gonna have to deal with a stupid chick who’s gonna think it’s a great honor to send kids to their death. She’s not gonna know how to do a single _fucking_ thing. You know what it means, yeah?”

“That you will be the most experienced on the team and that you will have to work for once.” she retorted sharply. They glared at each other but her face softened after a second. “I will make sure she is not _too_ incompetent. And I won’t suddenly disappear during the Games, Haymitch. I can still help you hunt sponsors down, it simply won’t be in any official capacity.”

“Sponsors hunting is only half of it.” he scoffed. “Come on, don’t make me say I can’t do it without you ‘cause you know already. It’s the whole PR aspect I’m worried about.”

Before Effie had come on board, Twelve’s PR had been abysmal. She was a master at her craft and she had made his life _way_ easier.

“I will still help you.” she insisted. “It won’t be that bad, darling… They could have saddled you with worse than Alys.”

She straddled his lap and his hands automatically shot to her waist, his thumbs drawing circles on her hip bones. She loosely wrapped her arms around his neck but he kept his head propped on the back of the couch and made no effort to look at her.

“I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare.” he confessed. The knowledge that he wouldn’t have her by his side during the next season was a source of anxiety on top of a pit of daily terror. Effie cleaned his messes and kept him on the straight narrow line necessary to survive the Capitol. And he wasn’t at his best right then. He might have known how to compensate for her absence _before_ but _now_ …

“You are unhappy here.” she whispered sadly, staring at his Adam’s apple rather than searching his gaze.

“Let’s be fair, I’d be miserable anywhere at this point.” he snorted and only realized belatedly how that sounded. He made a face. “Effie…”

“Perhaps you should go back to Twelve…” she suggested, her voice hard. “I know you think it will be difficult but perhaps… Perhaps you would be less unhappy there.”

His stomach churned. He felt hot and cold at the same time.

He wasn’t sure if the doorbell was a welcome distraction or not. She got up and went to answer the delivery boy, leaving him to come to terms with what he had known was coming for weeks now. He watched his hands reach for the abandoned cigarette packet and the silver lighter that had made a reappearance sometimes in the last month. He brushed his thumb on Effie’s initials before lighting the cigarette and taking a long draft.

He still hated the taste of it.

He heard her move around the kitchen soon after, settling plates, glasses and cutlery… He was halfway through the cigarette when she came looking for him, uncertain and hugging herself.

“It will grow cold.” she said as if it was really the point.

“I’m gonna go back to the penthouse.” he answered because _that_ was the point. “Just give me five minutes to get my stuff and I’ll be out of your way.”

He wasn’t sure how he had managed to take over the place given that he hadn’t brought much with him from Twelve but his clothes were all over the bedroom, he had books everywhere, there were cufflinks on her dressing table and…

“ _No_.” she protested, her face crumpling. “Why?”

“ _Why_?” he sneered, giving in to the anger because it was easier than giving in to the pain. “You just kicked me out.”

“No!” she denied. “I just said…”

“It’s _fine_ , sweetheart.” he spat. “Knew it was coming. Couldn’t last forever, yeah?”

He dropped the cigarette in the ashtray and tried to push past her to the bedroom. He needed to get a shirt on, then he could toss everything in a bag and… She planted herself firmly on his path, looking alarmed and desperate at the same time.

“I was _not_ kicking you out. I was _not_ breaking up with you.” she hissed. “What do you mean it couldn’t last forever? Are _you_ breaking up with me?”

He stared at her like she had grown a second head. How she could still confuse him like that after thirteen years, he didn’t know. “The _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“Language.” she growled. “And what are _you_ talking about?”

“You said I should go back to Twelve.” he scowled. “Forgot about that already?”

“Because you are unhappy here not because I want you to leave, you _idiot_!” she replied, raising her voice and shoving him back. He grabbed her wrists and held them high above her head, pinning her against the wall, preventing her from hitting him. “I simply thought… You are unhappy with me. I _hate_ that you are unhappy with me…”

She pursed her lips tight, her eyes shining bright with tears she blinked away.

He felt like an ass.

With a sigh, he leaned to kiss her, the tension leaving his body.

“Ain’t unhappy _with_ _you_.” he mumbled against her lips, letting go of her wrists to trail his fingers down her arms. “ _You_ ’re gonna be unhappy with me. _Eventually_. They’re right.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am unhappy because you are unhappy.”

“Vicious circle.” he snorted.

“You don’t say.” she deadpanned, studying him hard. After a few seconds, she turned her head away. “It kills me to see you like this. It _kills_ me.”

He leaned in and rested his forehead against her temple, not quite sure what to say. He couldn’t promise it would get better because he didn’t know. He suspected the Tour would make everything worse.

“I love you.” he said quietly, the words still difficult to utter. “But I ain’t gonna trap you in this if you want out.”

“I do _not_ want out. Are you even listening to what I am saying?” she snapped. “I suggested you go back to Twelve because… You _hate_ this city.”

“Twelve won’t be any better.” he dismissed and then awkwardly cupped her cheek. “Being without you won’t be any better.”

Her kiss was hard and the fingers digging in his nape were unforgiving. He groaned in her mouth and it seemed to spur her on. She pushed him until his back hit the doorframe. He allowed it only to get rid of her dressing gown and pull the top over her head, his hands immediately shooting to her bare breasts as soon as they bounced free. Her fingers sneaked inside his sweatpants and he stopped playing with her nipples to lift her up. She locked her legs around his waist with a giggle.

“The food will grow cold.” she chuckled in his neck before nipping at the delicate flesh.

“Good thing the only thing you can use in the kitchen is the microwave, yeah?” he retorted, earning himself a small slap on the shoulder.

He tried to toss her on the bed but she refused to be dislodged and clung to him like an octopus even as he crawled on all four on the mattress, trying to force her to let go. At long last, he flopped down, crushing her to the mattress and knocking the wind out of her. She laughed and the sound was so welcomed, so cheerful that he found himself smirking back at her. She brushed her hand against his cheek, retracing the smirk with her thumb, tenderness momentarily replacing the lust in her blue eyes.

It was moments like this one that made him hope there would be a light at the end of all this. She was colors. And he desperately needed her to paint over his grey.

He kissed her thumb, the inside of her wrist, the crook of her elbow and then brought his mouth to her breasts. _This_ was home to him and this was where he was happy: surrounded by her smell, her taste, her laugh…

The bed was a mess by the time they were done, creased sheets and tangled blankets that twisted around their calves… They remained lying there for a while, with him on his stomach between her legs, his cheek cushioned over her heart, her fingers running through his hair…

His stubble had left the soft skin of her chest a little reddish and he was distractedly brushing his fingers on the mark on the swell of her breast.

“I don’t want to go back to Twelve.” he said slowly. “That part of my life’s done.”

That part of his life had died with Katniss in the arena.

“Alright.” she whispered.

He pressed a hesitant kiss against her skin. “But… I ain’t sure how to start the next one.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her fingers stopped working on the knots in his hair and settled on his shoulder blade, over the biggest scar.

“Perhaps we should move.” she hummed.

“Move.” he frowned. “I don’t mind your place.”

“Yes, but as you say, it is _my_ place.” she countered. “And it should be _ours,_ something we both like, something we could build _together_.”

“You want to build a house.” he repeated, rolling off her so she could snuggle against his side and he could see her better.

“Not _literally_.” she sighed. “But it would be the idea, yes…” She propped herself on his collarbone, tapping his chest over the scar Cashmere had left. “And don’t you _see_? You just said _house_. You feel trapped in this apartment.”

His first instinct was to _deny_ because he genuinely didn’t _dislike_ her place. It was much better than most of the Capitol apartments and houses he had been in. At least it had a _soul_. But, truth be told, even the penthouse was bigger and…

“We could use more space.” he admitted.

He knew she was resenting him invading every corner of the flat and her walk-in closet in particular even if she hadn’t said anything. And he could have done with a quiet corner to himself too. Somewhere to stash some books that wouldn’t make the only bookshelf in the apartment look cluttered because the only reading stuff she owned was magazines. It was nothing compared to the shack he had grown up in, of course, but he had grown used to having a lot of space to himself and her apartment had been clearly intended for a single person.

“And a garden.” she added. “You need a garden. I know you, the city makes you feel claustrophobic. You need some green.”

_That,_ he couldn’t really dispute.

“There aren’t many houses with gardens in the Capitol though.” he pointed out. Not that he knew about anyway. There were Mansions on the hills where the very wealthy sponsors lived but he wouldn’t have liked the neighborhood at all.

She pondered that for a moment, distractedly drumming on his shoulder. “We could settle in the country.”

“The country.” he repeated flatly. “The Capitol doesn’t have a _country_.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, it is certainly not your definition of the term, I would surmise… It was fashionable to own a country house on the outskirt of the city two decades or so ago… It was very expensive and thus very exclusive… The trend died fast but… We are talking about _estates_ , most of them come with lands.”

“You think we can afford _that_?” he hesitated. She was wealthy enough and aside for spending some on liquor, his monthly stipends had mostly remained untouched since the Second Quell but what she was describing seemed _really_ expensive. The idea was appealing though. Certainly more appealing than living in the heart of the city.

“My parents owned one. We spent entire summers there…” she frowned, her voice trailing off. “I remember Mother hated it, she claimed it was too far from the city but it was only a half an hour drive, really… An hour to the center, top.”

His interest rose another notch. Half an hour from the city was a respectable distance but close enough that nobody would protest if he actually moved there.

“Father loved the house. It was old… The foundations dated back from before the Dark Days.” she hummed. “There were woods and a library… Secret passages in the walls too…”

He could hear the yearning in her voice and he guessed she had had fun there. Those were good memories to her.

“Did he sell it?” he asked, gently tugging on a curl to watch it bounce into place.

“I have no clue. The fashion passed and we stopped going.” she pursed her lips. “I will ask him next time I see him… If he still owns it… We could stay there for a couple of weeks, we could see if we like it well enough to make it a permanent arrangement…” She flashed him a bright smile. “We could get a pet too. What would you like?”

Her enthusiasm amused him. “Geese.”

“ _Geese_?” she exclaimed in dismay, making a face. “How _unsanitary_.”

He traced imaginary patterns on her lower back, deliberating between explaining and staying silent. In the end, he shrugged. “My brother wanted some. I always thought… You know… One day, I would…”

He let that thought go and didn’t finish the sentence. She settled back against his side, a tangible warm reminder that he wasn’t alone. He was grateful for it.

“You can have your geese.” she granted. “But I want a cat.”

He snorted, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. “Geese and a cat. Sold. That’s it? Add some sheep, a few goat and a dog and we have a farm.”

“I wouldn’t mind a horse.” she hummed. “It has been _ages_ since I rode.”

“Can always practice on me.” he deadpanned because he was a bit afraid she was being _serious_.

“Later perhaps.” she grinned, sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed with entirely too much energy. She made him feel _old_. “Now I am _famished_.”

With a sigh, he followed, quickening his steps enough to catch her around the waist well before she reached the kitchen.

She was hungry for food.

He was always hungry for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they're settling down... We have guests next week... I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know!


	47. The Dragon's Lair

“Remind me why I have to go with you again?” Haymitch winced as Effie lined the pink convertible car up the curb. The moment she turned off the ignition he stopped clinging to his seat.

He had never known she could drive before because the Capitol always provided cars and Avox drivers for them during the Games and the Tour. Those privileges had ended when they had left the penthouse though and, unless it was for an official matter when a car would be sent to collect them, they were left either ordering a private car with driver from an obscure company or driving the – _very_ – pink convertible Effie kept secreted away in the underground garage of her apartment building.

He wasn’t exactly a fan of her driving style. She clearly liked speed and abrupt jerking of the car into a line or another.

“ _Because_ …” she snapped – for the third time that evening – pulling down the sun visor to check her reflection in the small rectangular mirror. “I cannot avoid Mother anymore and she has _expressly_ ordered me to bring you with me.” She popped the visor back into place and flashed him a confident smile that seemed very fake to him. “You are the Capitol’s darling right now, it should grant you some leeway. Just… Don’t bite when she baits.”

She climbed out of the car before he could object _one more time_ that he _really_ didn’t want to do this. Being officially introduced to her family during a dinner that seemed so formal he had been forced to wear an expensive suit and a tie wasn’t exactly his idea of fun. And with the Tour just around the corner, he really didn’t need any more hardship.

He supposed her parents had a point in wanting to meet him though. Things were different in the Capitol but if they had been in Twelve… It was only natural to want to know the man who was living with their daughter.

Even if it would mean a whole evening of torture – Effie had warned him not to expect any less.

With a sigh, he got out of the car, not forgetting the bottle of wine he had been tasked with carrying, and inspected the huge house while she locked the convertible and made the keychain disappear in her small clutch. It looked… very neat. White walls, gleaming black door with a golden number on top and a door-knocker shaped like a roaring lion.

Effie’s hand slipped into his and squeezed.

“I _am_ sorry for dragging you into this.” she offered. “They won’t be pleased once they understand we are serious about… Well…”

“Being together for better or for worse?” he snorted, brushing his thumb against the iris shaped ring. It was half hidden by a monstrous pear shaped diamond. On purpose, he figured.

She looked a little nervous and it didn’t help making him feel at ease. He knew her family wasn’t exactly all warm and fuzzy but he didn’t like the spark of panic he could see dancing in her eyes. This was something she would _really_ have avoided if given a choice.

“Come on.” he smirked, nudging her shoulder with his and steering her up the small alley that led to the porch stairs. “We faced worse sponsors, yeah?”

“I am not sure, truth be told.” she whispered, clutching her small purse so hard her knuckles went white. “You must understand… I am not in any habit of bringing my boyfriends home. I only did that a couple of times.”

“That bad?” he asked, distracted by how _imposing_ the house was once you stood directly in front of the door. Not that he was impressed but it was clearly meant to make the visitors feel _crushed_ by its greatness. Capitols and their need to establish their position… 

“The ones who didn’t fall in love with Lyssa usually ended up agreeing with my mother just to please her.” she gritted through her teeth. “And my mother loves nothing more than criticizing me.”

He shot her a disbelieving glance, unhappy to notice she seemed to be shrinking on herself. “Yeah, well… At least with me you know you’re safe from that, sweetheart.”

Her smile was small but amused. She lifted her hand to knock and then let it fall, biting down on her bottom lip. “How do I look?”

He gave her a lazy once-over. She had a red dress on, a short little number made out of crisscrossing broad bands of fabric that formed thicker patches in the right areas and showed off some triangles of skin here and there at her waist, shoulders and back. She knew he liked it on her even if he had never really admitted as much aloud. The heels were impossibly high shiny red  things that made her legs look even longer. The wig was a dark blue, almost black, bob trimmed with gemstones - it was _also_ a favorite of his because unlike her colorful numbers this one could have actually looked natural. And the make-up was just over the top as usual, her skin had golden hues, the thick fake eyelashes adorned with smaller gemstones looked heavy and the navy blue lipstick was too dark for his liking. And, of course, there was the open voluminous fur coat he would never run out of jokes about.

“Ugly as ever.” he mocked.

Instead of whacking his shoulder and narrowing her eyes at him though, she looked worried and immediately started fumbling with his tie as if it needed urgent straightening.

“Do not joke about this tonight.” she begged. “I need to know if something is wrong with my appearance before I enter the dragon’s lair because…”

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” he frowned, gently wrapping his hand around hers and nudging them away from his tie. “It’s gonna be _fine_.”

“I will consider it _fine_ if there are no murders.” she muttered. “Whatever you do, _do_ try _not_ to antagonize my father before I  have secured the country house.”

Before he could answer that, she used the door-knocker. The door opened so quickly he was sure the man had been standing right there the whole time, ready to make them look like fools who had dawdled in front of the house for no good reason.

The butler – he _assumed_ he was a butler – respectfully bowed at them with a quiet “Good evening, Miss; Good evening, Sir.” that immediately made Haymitch uncomfortable. Avoxes, he knew how to deal with by now, but members of staff… He always felt awkward around them, not sure how to act.

“Thank you, Jenkins.” Effie answered, handing the man her coat as if it was completely natural. Haymitch followed her lead after a small hesitation.

“Euphemia!” a woman exclaimed with obvious theatrics, appearing in the hallway with enough flair that she _must_ have rehearsed her entrance. “At _last_! I am _very_ crossed with you. One would think you were cutting off your own mother.”

Elindra Trinket looked every bit the stereotypical Capitol he had expected her to be. Puffy turquoise blue hairdo, outrageous make-up, a face and a body so pumped with plastic it was difficult to say what she had originally looked like and an outfit that would have been more appropriate on someone ten years younger.

“What _in Panem_ are you wearing?” the woman hissed, swooping on them only to walk in a wild circle around Effie, apparently horrified by her outfit. “I _did_ say it would be a family dinner but, _still_ , I expected you to make an _effort_. Lyssa is wearing the most _darling_ evening gown. _Do_ ask her for her stylist’s address.”

“Don’t blame her. I chose her dress.” he cut in with clenched teeth, angry at the way Effie took everything on the chin without even trying to protest, as if she was not only expecting the dressing-down but also somehow thought she deserved it. “I happen to like it.”

Effie looked up at him with wide incredulous – and maybe slightly reproachful – eyes but he kept his attention on her mother. He knew how to recognize a threat and that woman _was_ one. Not a physical danger, maybe, because he could have snapped her neck in record time but she was obviously a _menace_.

Blue eyes identical to Effie inspected him from head to toe in very much the same fashion he had studied the house. Displeasure and loathing flashed on her face but it was so quickly hidden behind a polite curious interested mask Haymitch could have almost believed he had dreamed it.

“There is no accounting for taste, I suppose.” the woman answered after a few seconds, in a controlled voice in which harshness clearly peaked. “I am _delighted_ to meet you, Haymitch. You do _not_ mind if I call you by your first name, do you? After all… You are a _special friend_ of the family now.  It is such an _honor_ to have you over for dinner… Why, the two-times Quarter Quell victor… My friends are _quite_ jealous. I promised them I would organize some sort of get-together soon. I was _confident_ you would not mind.”

“Really, Mother, that’s…” Effie hissed.

“ _Quiet_ , Euphemia.” the Capitol interrupted. “Mind your manners.”

Haymitch felt such a wave of fury that he found it wiser to simply hand over the bottle of wine he had selected and carried under Effie’s instructions – _despite_ the fact it had been _torture_ to choose it, but he had walked into the store and he had come back _without_ having touched a drop, leaving the tasting to her, and there was some pride to find there.

“How _very_ thoughtful!” the woman exclaimed, immediately passing the bottle to the butler who was lurking nearby, probably for this exact purpose. “Jenkins, see that this wine is served with the roast. Now, follow me to the living-room. We were having some _amuse_ - _bouches_.”

He grabbed Effie’s hand and tugged her closer to his side as they walked behind her mother, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Wouldn’t discount murder, after all.”

“If you try to defend me every time, you will spend the night arguing with her.” she warned. “It is easier to let it go.”

“No, it’s _not_.” he scowled, squeezing her fingers.

There were more people in the living-room than he had expected. Mrs Trinket graciously waved them in, placing a falsely affectionate hand on Haymitch’s shoulder as he passed. “You are already acquainted with Lyssandra and her husband Rufus Flavershym, I believe?”

“Yeah.” he answered, smiling at Lyssa and nodding a little less genuinely at the man with the slicked back black hair who he had crossed path with once or twice when the guy had been playing Gamemaker. Effie hated his guts and that was good enough for him. He turned to the other man who was currently sitting in a white armchair, his pale blue eyes watching him. “You must be Effie’s dad.”

He knew he was violating every rule of good society but he rejoiced in it. He had listened to Effie rant enough times to know he was supposed to wait _after_ being introduced to call out to someone. It wasn’t because he pretended to be deaf to her lectures that he didn’t remember a few things.

Effie visibly tensed next to him.

“An _astute_ observation.” the man chuckled without any amusement, gracefully standing up from his chair to outstretch a hand. “Tadius Trinket. You may call me Tadius if you wish.”

It wasn’t an open invitation to do so but Haymitch shook the hand and took great pleasure in repeating the man’s name as if he had known him forever. Those people were already irking him and he would delight in pressing their every button.

Lyssa cut through the obvious tension by embracing her sister with genuine warmth and then air kissing Haymitch’s cheeks as if they were long lost friends. Followed a few minutes of chaos when Effie greeted everyone properly only to latch on his hand again as soon as she was able to. He wasn’t sure how they ended up sitting on a couch or how he ended up being forced to eat disgusting slimy things he was quickly informed were snails with garlic.

“So _refined_.” he deadpanned.

It was unlucky Elindra mistook it for a compliment.

The conversation remained strictly limited to the weather, Lyssa and Rufus’ sons and the new art exhibit that would soon open. Haymitch didn’t speak unless spoken too, slightly taken aback by what appeared to be, for all intent and purposes, a well-rehearsed play in which everyone knew their lines and when best to deliver them. Effie remarked on how cold it was getting, Lyssa observed it had been colder the previous year, Rufus sighed with obvious regret and lamented that the Controlled Weather Center wasn’t better supervised, Elindra agreed with her son-in-law wholeheartedly and asked how his _dear_ – and notably wealthy – parents were doing. At that point, Tadius redirected the conversation on his grandsons’ school success.

Everything seemed so cold and distant… Even the decoration looked that way. Classy – or what Capitols considered classy – but austere, lacking any warmth… The style was so clean and white he understood why Effie was so obsessed with putting colors everywhere. She was such a cheerful positive warm person it was chilling to realize she had been forced to grow up in that kind of environment.

The only real mishap happened when Haymitch refused a flute of champagne and Mrs Trinket seemed to take it as a personal affront. Despite his insistence that he didn’t need a drink, she persisted in having a maid fetch him some liquor-free cocktail, making such a great show of it not being a problem that it was obviously meant to make Haymitch feel like a nuisance.

Effie was embarrassed but he couldn’t quite tell on whose behalf.

It was almost amusing, the way they treated him. He was a victor – not just _any_ victor either but the current one and a two-times Quell winner at that – and it conferred him a certain status they couldn’t just dismiss. He was famous after all and _in fashion_ \- two things they revered. However he was also from a District and very much not from their world and yet he was standing with their sister-in-law or daughter as if he was her equal and it clearly riled them up the wrong way. The only one who treated him fairly was Lyssa, something Effie seemed both grateful for and a bit suspicious of.

He was relieved when they were invited to pass into the dining-room but it was short-lived. It seemed they had exhausted all the safe topics and the conversation was now turning to the Games. Elindra and Tadius were presiding and he was sitting between Lyssa and her mother, facing Effie. Although given how wide the table was, she could have been sitting at the other end of the country. He couldn’t touch her, he couldn’t really discreetly talk to her…

They were on their own and he was sure the separation had been on purpose.

“When does the Tour start again?” Rufus asked Effie who didn’t look thrilled to be sitting next to him.

“In two weeks.” she answered evenly, cutting the tomatoes in her salad in small pieces.

“You must be impatient to go back home, Haymitch.” Tadius remarked casually. “You have been away for a long time. You will stay in Twelve at the end of the Tour, I assume?”

“That’s not really the idea, no.” he denied. “I’m coming back with Effie.”

The announcement was followed by a small displeased silence that Effie abruptly put an end to by clearing her throat. “The Tour promises to be _grand_ , this year. Be sure not to miss it.”

Haymitch’s mood darkened even more with that comment. It had been made clear to them that the Tour wouldn’t be like the previous one but would go back to being what it usually was: propaganda. Riots and rebellions must have been subdued for good in the Districts because the schedules and instructions Effie had been given included sightseeing and greet and meet with other victors as well as speeches and the usual dinners with the mayors. He wasn’t looking forward to it. _At all_.

“You must be _so_ happy to retire on two victories…” Lyssa replied, smiling at her sister. “I am really proud of you, Effie.”

Effie smiled back and Haymitch dared hope that this would be the end of that but as soon as the ballet of maids had taken away the empty plates and replaced them with others full of roast and – admittedly – delicious looking vegetables, Elindra attacked again. “I heard through the grapevine you had taken a job for Lavello Miclay, dear?”

Effie briefly met Haymitch’s eyes and there was a note of warning in there that told him he was supposed to stay out of the conversation. He focused on cutting his meat. He knew she had agreed to go on the catwalk as a guest model for some stylist the following spring… He didn’t quite care. She liked modeling, it made her happy and it wasn’t like it was any of his business.

He also knew what it was she _really_ wanted to do next and he knew why Harwyn invited her to lunches and dinners so often – it _was_ possible the stylist had mentioned it to him and requested he tried to out-stubborn her on the question – but Effie refused any discussion on the matter.

It wasn’t like she could hide her sketches from him. Not when it was something she liked to do on the quiet nights when they were watching TV or when he was reading a book… She had pads _full_ of dresses, suits, outfits and the likes… He wasn’t certain how Harwyn had gotten his hands on them but he knew the man thought she could do _something_ with them. Except she was determined to dismiss them as a mere hobby that didn’t deserve any attention.

“That’s true.” she confirmed. “Although it has not been officially announced yet.”

“Effie…” Elindra sighed with tangible frustration and a touch of disappointment. “You _should_ know better, darling. You are thirty-five now… _Who_ keeps modeling at thirty-five? They will turn you into a joke if you are not careful…”

“What’s her age got to do with anything?” Haymitch growled, irritated on her behalf. “She’s more gorgeous than any of those other chicks.” 

Mrs Trinket recoiled a little, clearly not used to being addressed that way.

“Love makes you blind.” Rufus laughed but quickly backtracked when his wife glared at him. “No offence, Effie, you _are_ lovely. But those models… Why, I am always impressed by how many beautiful girls there are in the city…”

“Might be ‘cause your city wouldn’t know _beautiful_ if it knocked it on the head.” he spat.

“Haymitch, _enough_.” Effie snapped quietly.

He glared at her, not keen on being scolded like a child in public. “ _Easy_ , sweetheart.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him before turning her gaze to her mother. “Your concern is _touching_ , Mother, but I know what I am doing. Thank you.”

“You intend to go back into modeling, then?” Tadius clarified with obvious disinterest, as if she had just expressed a wish to take up pottery classes.

“Do _not_ be preposterous.” Elindra objected. “She _cannot_. She is _too old_. No… Now she is going to do the _sensible_ thing and settle down with a _nice_ husband.” The woman waved a dismissive hand toward Haymitch. “No offense, Haymitch, but this _affair_ cannot last forever, you surely realize. It is all well and good for now but I am _fairly_ sure you are both aware it will have to end sooner rather than later.”

Haymitch kept his features schooled into a blank sort of detachment.

He had expected an intervention of some kind but maybe not such an open one. It lacked subtlety. They must either be very scared of Effie being reckless enough to intend to make it permanent or very fed up with her ignoring them for so long.

“Mother.” Lyssa winced. “I _really_ do _not_ believe…”

“It is not for _you_ to believe or not.” Elindra scolded. “We are all civilized _reasonable_ people here, after all.”

“ _Are_ we?” he scoffed.

“For the most part.” the woman huffed, leaving no doubt as to whom the other part referred to.

“Actually…” Effie hummed, after neatly crossing her fork and her knife in her mostly empty plate. “I _do_ intend to work in the fashion field once more.”

“ _Not_ as a _stylist_.” Elindra begged, her worries suddenly switching course. “You have had that folly in your head for _years_ and I _told_ you times and times again…”

“I lack talent. Yes. I understood you loud and clear.” Effie interrupted her. Haymitch’s hand clenched into a fist but he forced himself to relax, filing that away for later consideration. “Faun Harwyn is looking into someone to replace the current manager of his designer house. He is retired but he keeps a _keen_ eye on his legacy, as you all know. He wants me to take the position.”

There was a long silence. Haymitch figured she had impressed them at last.

He wondered how more impressed they would be if they knew it wasn’t just the managing Harwyn wanted her to take over, but the designing department as well. He wanted her to become the main stylist, something she kept dismissing as a joke to everyone’s growing frustration.

“That is _excellent_ news!” Tadius congratulated her after a few seconds. “Well done, Effie.”

“Thank you, Father.” she beamed and then took such an innocent tone Haymitch immediately became mistrustful. “ _Oh_ , this reminds me… I meant to ask you if you still owned the country house?”

“I never got around to sell it.” her father confirmed with a frown. “Although I cannot vouch for the state it is in. It would need repairs, I wager. Did you want to borrow it for a party?”

The Capitol said that in the bored resigned tone of a man used to such requests from his wife and daughters.

“I was actually hoping you would rent it to me. A change of scenery is in order, something quieter but within easy reach of the city for obvious reasons… I would like to move in after the Tour.” she announced cheerfully. And, as if the news hadn’t shocked the others enough, she added with a bright smile: “With Haymitch.”

Haymitch rubbed his mouth to hide his smirk but he couldn’t help his eyes from sparkling with mirth as he met her gaze over the table. You could have heard a pin drop.

“Of course.” Tadius replied in an even voice. “I will have it ready by then.”

“Tadius!” Elindra protested in a shrill squeal.

“ _Yes_ , dear, I _do_ believe it is time to bring in the salmon.” the man nodded, gesturing at the staff to proceed to the next course, ignoring his wife.

Lyssa quickly launched a conversation about some movie she had just seen and when Elindra tried to voice her protests, Tadius firmly and politely made her understand it wasn’t welcomed. While Elindra fumed over her untouched plate, Haymitch and Effie exchanged triumphant but amused looks.

Dinner went on like this for the next two courses and dessert – at which point Haymitch was completely full – and he was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel that had been that evening when Tadius stood up and invited him and Rufus to follow him to his study for some digestives while _the ladies_ retreated to the living-room for some tea and light conversation.

Haymitch honestly wondered in what century those people were living in.

Effie’s small wince told him to be wary of the earlier easy compliance of her father.

This reeked of a trap he had no choice but to willingly enter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo how do you think is Haymitch going to fare with tadius and rufus? Did you like the meeting with the in-laws? Let me know your thoughts!


	48. A Lovely Evening

Tadius Trinket’s study surprised him by how… _not eccentric_ it looked. The rest of the house was all clean lines and pure white style but this room reeked of stereotypical masculinity. An imposing desk made of a mix of dark wood and glass took up most of the space, cluttered with files and papers; tall matching wooden bookshelves lined up the walls up to the ceiling, loaded with so many books Haymitch’s eyes widened a little in jealousy; leather armchairs were arranged facing each other in a corner, over a white furry rug, not far from a small table with a reading lamp; and, of course, there was the small cabinet clearly full of expensive booze sporting a half empty crystal decanter and an assortment of glasses. 

“What is your poison, Haymitch?” Tadius asked, going straight for the liquor.

“Nothing, thanks.” he answered evenly. He had been declining alcohol all night and one would hope they would get a hint already.

“Come on, man…” Rufus laughed, clapping his shoulder once as he walked past him as if they were old friends. “What Effie doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Debatable.” he snorted. “And it’s still no.”

“Your loss.” the former Gamemaker shrugged, accepting the glass full of – _mouth-watering_ – whiskey and sitting on an armchair. “Tadius has the best liquor.”

Mr Trinket soon occupied the second armchair and Haymitch was left standing with no other choice than to take possession of one of the heavy chairs in front of the desk. The point was to make him feel inferior, he figured, _an outsider_. He was too used to Capitols’ methods to so much as _blink._

In truth, he found the two men and their obviously rehearsed behavior a little pathetic. Did they think he was scared of them? Impressed? He had been through two arenas. He had faced death more times than he could count. The things he had done… The things he had seen… Never mind Snow breathing down his neck, threatening everyone he held dear. The humiliations he had been put through… And those two little men thought they could impress him?

The _hubris_ …

He acted perfectly natural as he grabbed a chair and brought it closer to the armchairs, going as far as straddling it and crossing his arms on the back just to rile them up. He could almost imagine Effie cringing if she had seen him.

Tadius and Rufus _certainly_ did cringe.

It was almost funny, really.

“I am curious, Rufus… What happened to this necklace Lyssa wanted so much? Did you cave in the end?” Tadius asked, apparently resolute not to comment on Haymitch’s _uncivilized_ attitude.

“Did I have a choice?” Rufus laughed as if it was a good joke. “I bought it, of course. And the next day she was asking for more diamond earrings to go with it!”

They chuckled and laughed and Haymitch watched, almost fascinated by the shallowness of their everyday lives. He had never had a good opportunity to observe wealthy Capitols in their natural environment before, not without others they needed to outdo or impress around. It was frightening to realize they were just as stupid in private.

“My daughters have expensive tastes.” Tadius acknowledged, taking a long sip from his glass of whiskey. “They take after Elindra, I am afraid.  Is Effie pressing you for gifts, Haymitch?”

“Not really, no.” he shrugged.

“Truly?” the man asked, eyebrows lifted in surprise – at least, Haymitch _thought_ they were raised, it was hard to tell with all the plastic under his skin. “How _peculiar_. She never had any qualms with her other boyfriends.”

“Effie’s a considerate girl.” Rufus cut in thoughtfully. “Our lifestyle can be difficult to keep up with…” He toasted Haymitch with a smug little smile. “No offense, Haymitch. But I know how much a victor makes per month. I have no doubt it is a small fortune in your District but in the city… Give that to Lyssa and it would be gone in two days.”

Tadius was studying him, the rim of his glass pressed against his lips, and Haymitch scoffed, annoyed to feel a pinch of self-consciousness. “First of, Effie’s not a _girl_. She’s a grown woman who’s maybe more sensible than your wives when it comes to spending money.” Although _that_ was doubtful. She did an _awful_ lot of shopping. “She doesn’t need me to keep her. She’s _independent_.”

And proud to be.

But now he was feeling ill-at-ease. She was used to _this,_ he realized, being pampered and covered with lavished gifts. It had always been like that when she had had a boyfriend during the Games: flowers delivered at all hours of the day, jewels, expensive dresses or shoes… And what had _he_ ever given her? A cheap multicolored beads necklace he had won at poker by accident years earlier and that she hardly ever wore if they were to go out and an unassuming little ring that he hadn’t even intended for _her_ in the first place. Even their toasting hadn’t been done right. She had never really said anything about it, she knew him after all, but she must miss being covered with expensive _shit_. She was like that at the core… 

He stood up, angry to have let them get under his skin and even angrier to show his hand so easily. He marched to the closest bookshelf and examined the titles, surprised to find they were actually good books. Philosophy, historical volumes… Not all _quite_ legal. He thought back to his small pile of forbidden books still stashed away in an empty victor house with longing. He hadn’t decided if it was worth risking bringing them back from the Tour or not yet. He wasn’t sure how much leeway he was allowed and he didn’t want to do _anything_ that could put Effie or Peeta in danger. But he _did_ miss his books. They had been his only companions for a long time.

“Is _she_ keeping you?” Tadius asked and the question seemed to echo like a gunshot in the room. “Pardon me for being so blunt but it is, I believe, how those things work, isn’t it? People pay for your time and attention and, for the right price, you give them the romance they desire.”

He kept his eyes on the books and his back turned to the men through sheer force of will. The titles blurred together and he forced himself to breathe deeply, to keep his cool, _not_ to think about cold hands on his skin and voices whispering instructions in his ears.

“Does Effie know about Velma Keap, Soleda Hearst and… Why, I believe it was the Bolchoks…” Rufus hummed. “Such a nice couple… Who would have thought such _shocking_ behavior was going on behind closed doors.”

_Just when you think you’ve reached the bottom humiliation wise,_ he mused.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out how Rufus had found out. He used to be a Gamemaker – although such a poor one he had only lasted a couple of years – and he had _sampled_ his share of victors. He must still have contacts.

“Does your wife know about all the women you’re _fucking_ on the side?” he retorted lightly, almost distractedly, pretending to peruse the books but not registering a single word printed on the spines. There was a short silence behind him but he didn’t glance to see if Tadius was aware of that little bit of information or not. “What is it you want to know? Just come out and say it. You want to know if I’m a whore? You’re gonna have to take that up with President Snow. Those kinds of arrangements…  They’re above my paygrade.”

Tadius cleared his throat. He heard the telltale clicking of ice in a glass of perfectly good whiskey and he wished he hadn’t refused when the man had offered. His throat was closing up and liquor would have been welcomed.

“I wish to know if your relationship with my daughter is a business arrangement with an end date.” Mr Trinket clarified. “You have been her favorite victor since she was twelve. She has fancied herself in love with you since then, I wager. If this is simply a fantasy, who am I to refuse her that? _However,_ if you are trying to _exploit_ Effie’s feelings for you…”

“ _Exploit_.” he repeated, finally turning around to face the two men again. “Exploit _how_ , exactly?”

“Come, now.” Tadius huffed. “I understand very well living in Twelve cannot be the best experience and, here you are, living in the city, abusing my daughter’s hospitality, free of rent…”

“I could have stayed at the penthouse.” he spat. “Same thing.”

“I won’t ask who pays for food.” Mr Trinket dismissed in a hard voice. “Or how many gifts she bestows upon you. She has always been a generous girl.”

“Stop calling her a _girl_.” he growled. “She’s not some teenager. She’…”

“She’s a _simpleton_.” Tadius cut him off with a sigh. “I love her and will willingly admit she is very competent when it comes to managing things but that makes for a good secretary not a sensible person. She is a romantic at heart, not as bright as she fancies herself to be, and she can be _very_ unreasonable.”

“There were _four_ engagements and she broke off each one of them.” Rufus chimed in even if the look Tadius gave him was less than warm. “She would have been better off marrying any of those men than staying so long as an escort. I told her time and time again, so did her mother. She could have been part of the elite sponsors instead of being the escort to the most useless District in Panem.”

Haymitch was seething with fury by the time they were done. There was a paper knife in plain sight on the desk and the _temptation…_

“You know how many people I’ve killed?” he asked in a low dangerous voice.

Tadius frowned. “I fail to see what it has to do with anything.”

“Insult Effie again and you’re gonna find out.” he warned, very seriously. He sneered at the two of them, feeling nothing but contempt and disgust. He kept his eyes on Tadius because the former Gamemaker he would have gladly strangled without a second thought. “It’s _sad_ how little you know her. I’m gonna answer your questions ‘cause you’re her father and I’ve been raised right but that’s the last time you’re gonna mention what your government has me do on the side to make profits, we’re clear?” He didn’t give him time to agree or not. “I’m _not_ her _whore_. This is a _real_ thing and you can say whatever you want, you can _do_ whatever you want… I ain’t leaving her and she ain’t leaving me. Deal with it.”

Tadius stood up, clearly losing his temper. “Do you expect me to be happy that my daughter has settled with a District criminal?”

“I am a _victor_.” he scowled, bundling his hands into fists. “It still means _something_ in this place. I ain’t without influence, you know, so _watch_ _your_ _words_.”

“You are a _criminal_ who was whipped twice in his life like _the dog_ he is.” Tadius insisted with nothing but loathing in his voice. “I do my researches, Haymitch. I know _everything_ there is to know about you, you see. And I find you _lacking_. The alcoholism is but the top of your flaws. You are a dangerous idealist who managed to get everyone he ever loved _killed_. She deserves _better_.”

He clenched his jaw and snorted bitterly. “Yeah. She does. But she wants _me_.”

“A passing folly.” Rufus mocked. “Effie is a lot of things but she is never careless when it comes down to her reputation. Once the publicity wears off…”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Haymitch spat. “Sorry but as nice as the evening was, I think it’s time we go home.”

He didn’t wait for their dismissal to march toward the door.

“She is simply being contradictory.” Tadius tossed at his retreating back. “She expects us to rage and forbid her to be with you. This is just a bid for attention and I do not intend to play her game. Do not get comfortable in her house, Haymitch. Once she realizes it does not make her more interesting than Lyssandra to our eyes, she will get bored and give you up. You are a brute with no education, nothing more, and she has been raised for greater things. Mark my words.”

Well, at least that explained why the man had been so quick to accept lending his country house when she had asked. He thought it was all about him and their family, that Effie was acting out like a kid throwing a tantrum… They were so far from the harsh reality of facing children who were going to be send to death, of actual whips that tore at the skin and virtual strangers buying you like cattle… What could that man understand of Effie’s motivations? Effie has seen hell. Effie knew. But the lot of them… They still thought they were in heaven.

Haymitch laughed. He couldn’t help it.

It was bitter and rough and almost pitying.

He glanced back at the man with another sneer. “How does it feel to be so blind?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, he strode out of there and found his way to the living-room. The conversation seemed to be just as rocky in there as it had been in the study - if Effie’s raised voice and her mother’s sharp reminder that a lady should never shout were any indication. Lyssa was sitting on the couch with a hand on her forehead when he barged in and looked up at him almost with relief. Effie and Elindra were both standing up on either side of the coffee table, glaring hard at each other. Effie’s eyes were bright with tears and her breathing seemed shaky.

“I think that’s our cue, sweetheart.” he taunted, outstretching a hand she immediately grabbed with a little too much despair. It was ridiculous really. The whole thing. They had been through much worse, too much  to let those people upset them. He smirked at Elindra Trinket. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yes. Thank you for a lovely evening.” Effie added with a terribly fake smile. “I am afraid we must dash now.”

Her mother was almost choking on her anger but Haymitch didn’t give her time to launch another volley of attack, he headed straight for the front door, barely pausing long enough to snatch their coats and her purse from the butler who was waiting there as if he had a sixth sense.

They almost _ran_ to the car and it was only once they were safely inside that he let himself _breathe_. They remained silent for a long time. Effie was staring at the wheel and he was rubbing his face, exhausted by the whole thing.

Eventually, she fished the key out of her clutch and started the engine. She didn’t say a word on the drive back and he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation they needed to have. He was having troubles deciding how he felt. Angry, _yeah_. But on whose behalf?

He was a _victor_ , while it wasn’t something he was actually proud of, not with everything it implied, it was supposed to mean _something,_ to give him some…

Her father had called him a _dog_. And that was what he was to those people. A dog. An animal. District people were hardly more than ants to them. Slaves that could be discarded and replaced. And the way he had talked about _Effie_ …

He hardly noticed when she parked the car in its designated spot. He only climbed out because she did it first and he followed her out of habit, hating the slouched shoulders and the uncertain looks she was tossing him.

He wasn’t sure how it happened – then again, he never was – but the moment they stepped in the elevator, they were on each other. He had her pinned to the wall, his hands sliding under the thick bands of red fabric to grope a feel here and there, his lips hard on hers… She was giving as bad as she got, her fingers tangled in his hair, angling his head the way she wanted it, deepening the kiss until it was nothing but an aggressive battle for control… She wrapped her leg around his waist, rubbed herself against him or tried to… He let his mouth wander to her throat and he _bit down,_ hard enough that she cried out. He sucked on the abused patch of skin, prompting her to let out more of those noises that always drove him crazy.

She didn’t protest about him leaving a mark. Maybe she _wanted_ a mark. He certainly wanted to leave one.

She was _his_.

She was _fucking_ his. 

Accusing him of being _her whore_ … Trying to blackmail him into leaving her by telling her of his sleeping with people he hadn’t chosen as if it wasn’t already _killing_ her to watch him go through that… _Humiliating him_ just so… _What_? He would know he wasn’t good enough for her? The joke of the century. He knew that. He _fucking_ knew that.

She had managed to unbutton his waistcoat and untuck his shirt while he was chewing on her neck. He must have sucked too hard because suddenly, her nails were scratching down his back, catching on swollen scars and making him hiss in pain. He drew back to glare at her, not really needing the reminder of being tied to a post and whipped _like a dog_ right then.

_A brute with no education._

_A dangerous idealist who managed to get everyone he loved killed._

She attacked his mouth, kissing him hard, pressing her hips against his and capturing his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling almost to the point of _pain…_

The elevator doors opened on their floor and they tumbled out to her apartment still kissing, still touching and tearing at each other’s clothes…

He needed her _naked_. Right then.

She blindly fumbled with the keys behind his back and ended up dropping them as well as her clutch. She muttered a curse against his lips that made the little blood he had left in his brain rush south. He didn’t want to let go when she detached herself from him. His shirt was open and his belt undone by that point and her dress was riding high on her thighs. He watched her bend in two to pick up the keys and the clutch and he couldn’t resist pressing himself behind her, pushing the dress up until he could see her perfect ass and the lacy thong she had on.

There were two other apartments on their floor and anyone could have walked in and out at any moment. He was almost tempted to have her right there anyway.

Like the dog they thought he was.

He wasn’t sure what she was thinking but the moment he pushed her dress up to her waist, she stopped moving, bent in two, ready to follow with whatever he had in mind, no doubt. She didn’t protest when he lowered his mouth to her lower back or when he licked her butt cheek. She only gasped when he bit down on the creamy flesh.

_Her whore_.

He couldn’t believe they had had the guts of calling him _her_ _whore_.

He plucked the keys from her hand and unlocked the door before he could _really_ lose all common sense and act on his baser instincts. She ducked past him and into the apartment only to toss her purse in the hallway, slam the door behind his back, push him against the flat surface and attack his chest.

She licked the still pinkish scar Cashmere had left and he growled at the reminder. _Killer. That_ was what he was. Not a whore. Not a dog. Not a slave. But a _killer_. And those people had the nerves to think it was a good idea to insult _her_ in front of him, to…

Her fingers brushed against the old swollen scar on his right side and his thoughts stilled even as she moved her hands up to push his jacket, waistcoat and shirt off his shoulders all at once. She struggled with the cufflinks that were in the way but she was determined and she didn’t seem to notice his sudden immobility. She pulled down his zipper next and shoved the pants and boxers down, her clever fingers immediately wrapping around what stood at attention for her. It was only then that she seemed to notice he wasn’t touching her.

She had kicked off her heels at some point and their natural height difference made her appear even more vulnerable when she looked up at him with some uncertainty. “ _Fuck_ me, Haymitch. Please… Please, _fuck_ me.”

That wasn’t something he had ever been able to resist.

A dog. Her whore. A brute.

Maybe he was all three.

He kicked off shoes, pants and underwear without grace or efficiency but spurred on by the regular strokes she was giving him. He batted her hand away and violently pulled the dress over her head, leaving the wig askew, before twisting them around to shove her against the door. The bra was carelessly discarded.

“Mine.” he growled, closing his lips around her nipple and kneading her other breast with his hand while she wriggled to get out of her thong.

“ _Yours_.” she breathed out. “Only yours… Please, Haymitch…”

He knew what she wanted. He also knew she couldn’t be _that_ ready for it yet but, at that moment, he didn’t quite care. She was pleading for it and her father’s voice kept echoing in his head and… _He hated them._ He hated them _all_. His family was dead because of people like them. His girl. His tributes. His friend. Katniss. They had made him kill _his best friend_.  They had made him… He pulled hard on her leg and buried himself in her in one thrust that had her tossing her head back, hitting the wood with a dull _thud_.

He pounded hard into her, like the brute he supposedly was, barely listening to the increasing volumes of her cries. He was surprised when she climaxed, even more surprised when it triggered his own release.

He pressed his forehead against the wood next to her cheek, slowly coming back to himself to realize he was clenching her thigh so hard his fingers would leave bruises. _Again_. He loosened his grip, his pants becoming a little more regular, startled to notice she was clutching him like a drowning woman and that she had buried her face in his neck. He could feel something damp against his skin and he thought she might have been crying.

“I hurt you?” he immediately worried.

She shook her head but didn’t answer.

_A simpleton. A girl. Too old. Too stupid. Too romantic._

When he thought back about how they had talked about her, about how they had treated her…

He pressed a kiss against her throat and another one up her jaw, cradling the back of her head in his hand, gently pulling the wig back straight before coiling his fingers around her nape.

“They’re assholes.” he muttered.

“They’re my family.” she countered weakly.

“ _I’_ m your family.” He bowed his head, bumped it against hers. “They don’t see you. They don’t _know_ you. _Fuck_ _them_. _Fuck_ his house too. We’re gonna find one of our own.”

“It will be too expensive.” she sighed. “And it does not matter. I do not mind what they think about me. Or about us for that matter. If my mother thinks I am stupid enough to let a man take advantage of me…”

He snorted. “Funny. Your father thought I was your _fuck toy_.”

She suddenly snapped her head back, staring right into his eyes, cold terrifying fury in her gaze. “Is _that_ what he said to you? To _your_ _face_?”

“Amongst other things.” he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it _does_.” she hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “To be fair, he _also_ accused me of using you.” Which reminded him… “Next time we do groceries, I’m buying.” He wasn’t a kept man. She opened her mouth as if to protest and then thought better of it. He felt her shiver and he realized they were still leaning against the front door and it wasn’t the best place to have a conversation. He pressed a long kiss on the mark he had left on her neck, proud of his handy work. “I hate the way they treat you.”

“How about how they treated _you_?” she growled. “As if you were nothing but _garbage_. As if you weren’t _Haymitch Abernathy_. You are a _fucking_ Quell victor. _Two times_ Quell victor. You _shouldn’t_ be treated that way. You were _my guest_ if nothing else and they should have been…”

He kissed her to shut her up because it wasn’t the point. They had treated him like garbage, yes, but ultimately so did all the Capitols with a very few exceptions. Victors were District people: usable, disposable. It was why he had wanted a revolution in the first place.

And now it would never happen.

And now he would have to sing the praises of the people who constantly kicked them to their knees.

“You…” he mumbled against her lips. “… should _never_ be treated like you’re an idiot.” His mouth trailed down her throat to her collarbone, to her breasts. “Or called _old_.” He toyed with her nipples for a few seconds, listening to the quickening of her breaths and then dropped to his knees, kissing and licking her stomach, making a slow but determined path downward. “Or _ugly_.” He guided her leg over his shoulder and kissed the length of her inner thigh down to her knee. “You’re _fucking_ smart.” He moved back up, nipping at the tender flesh. “And beautiful.” He breathed over her core, smirking when he saw her feel around her for purchase. “And _you_ …” he continued, untroubled, giving a long lick between her legs. “… should be _worshiped_.”

It wasn’t something he told her often because her ego was inflated enough as it was but, sometimes, he figured she could use the reminder.

He took his time teasing her, using all her favorite tricks and then some, so that, when she finally came, he wasn’t really surprised when her legs wouldn’t support her anymore and she fell down. She laughed, climbed on his lap and kissed him hard, her tongue chasing after his.

He flopped down on his back, bringing her with him, and wondered if they would ever make it past the hallway that night.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers drawing silly patterns on his chest. After a few minutes, she turned to muffle her laughter against his skin.

“What?” he drawled out, a bit sleepy.

“I should have announced we were married.” she chuckled. “My father would have choked on those snails, Rufus would have spat his wine and Mother would have fainted. That would have ended the evening _far_ sooner.”

He snorted and brushed his knuckles up and down her arm, amused by the pretty picture she was painting. “Bet the butler would have been right there in a flash. That guy’s sneaky.”

“With my mother one learns to be.” she sighed.

“Where do they even find them?” he frowned. “The staff, I mean. ‘Cause I’ve mostly seen Avoxes in that kind of jobs not… Well… Regular people. Are they District?”

But he would have known if they were.

“No, Capitols.” she replied. “Lower class. Well… We probably have two different definitions of the term but… For the Capitol, they are lower class because they need to work for others.” The subject clearly held limited interest to her because she waved it away. “Lyssa was friendly.”

There was something to the way she said that, something that sounded _far_ too casual. He had seen her jealous or possessive before but this irrational fear that he would fall at her sister’s feet was taking it to the next level.

“Lyssa’s a nice woman.” he granted. And not in small part because they _owed_ her for sponsoring them. “But you’ve got to stop thinking I’m gonna up and leave you for her.”

“She is everything any man would want.” she whispered.

“Yeah, well… It’s been made clear to me tonight I’m no man. See, according to your father, District people are dogs.” he mocked. “Good thing you’re a bitch most of the time ‘cause this dog wants you and _only_ you.”

She propped herself on her elbow to look at him. “My father is a prejudiced _idiot_.”

“Can’t disagree with that.” he shrugged, gently tugging the wig off her head. He had ripped off enough pins earlier that it gave in easily. He immediately started playing with her hair. “I mean it though, Princess. Couldn’t care less about your sister.”

“I know.” she admitted, placing her cheek back on his shoulder. “I am sorry.” He shrugged a little. There were worse things than her being jealous over him. It was a testament of how well she knew him that she clarified “Not about that.”

But about the whole disaster of a night. For having dragged him there in the first place. For the way her family had treated him. For the way _the Capitol_ had treated him.

What was the point of getting angry again? It wouldn’t change anything.

He had learned his place. It was at Snow’s feet and it would never change.

“Not your fault, sweetheart.” he murmured. “Not your fault.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy this chapter? Let me know!


	49. New Normal

Being back on the train felt odd.

The Tour had been looming for a while now and it had been a source of anxiety for him but he had been so focused on how bad it was going to be he had forgotten to worry about the reality of it. Being in the Capitol for the last six months had been an experience in itself, he felt out of touch with his own life. Everything that had felt tangible, _important_ before… It was gone now. Six months had been enough to make him used to another sort of living, one where the fridge was always full – at least when he remembered to ask Effie’s hired help to go grocery shopping – and when there was no one dying in the streets.

His life had taken a new _normal_ without him really realizing. Even the previous night, having dinner at a fancy restaurant he still hated because everyone made entirely too much fuss hadn’t been that terrible. On one part because he had gotten used to it, on another because it had been with Celeste and Pec and he didn’t hate _them_. It had been a goodbye dinner before the upcoming long absence but nobody had actually said the _T_ word, too busy teasing each other about nonsensical things. He had enjoyed himself. He had grown comfortable in that life.

Being on the train was like a slap in the face or a bucket of icy water poured over his head.

It wasn’t that he ever _forgot_ … There had been a lot of interviews in the last few days, a lot of official appearances… He was already tired of all that _shit_. And the thought of what laid in store for the next few weeks…

It wasn’t that he ever forgot but sometimes _maybe_ he managed to _ignore._

He blew out the smoke of his cigarette, watching the landscape flash by through the window. It was dark outside and the train was going too fast for him to see much more than the vague shapes of mountains in the distance but the sight was familiar enough. He had spent a lot of nights staring at Panem through the window while nursing a drink. Effie had made sure there would be no liquor on the train and he wasn’t certain if he was grateful or not for that.

He was on friendly enough terms with Harwyn but the new escort… He understood why Effie had invited her along. It was smart. Smarter than just letting her come on board in spring and let her figure it all out for herself. But the girl was _stupid_. She was barely older than Peeta, had squealed when Effie had introduced her to Haymitch and had hugged him as if they were long lost friends. He didn’t think she would be a nasty one, those who liked to sneer or taunt the kids, but she was naïve and shallow and that wasn’t much better. She would grate on his nerves before long.

He closed his eyes, wondering how long it would take for Effie to track him down.

He had escaped right after dinner but she had been forced to remain with their stylist and her future replacement – it wouldn’t have been polite to excuse herself or whatever.

The bar car had always been his favorite spot on the train. It didn’t matter that it was devoid of any liquor now. He had dismissed the Avox who always stood behind the bar and had bypassed the stools to stand next to the window. And now he was waiting but he wasn’t sure for what.

They would arrive in Twelve around noon the next day, then the afternoon would be free, they would spend the night there and in the morning the whole shebang would start with him walking out of a house he wasn’t living in anymore in front of the cameras, pretending to be the happiest man in Panem.

He flicked the ashes on the floor without a care in the world and brought the cigarette back to his lips.

He didn’t glance over his shoulder when he heard the door sliding open and close.

“ _There_ you are!” Effie exclaimed, a touch too excited. “I looked everywhere for you! _Truly_ , you should be using an ashtray, Haymitch. It is _only_ proper.”

It was hard for her to switch off the escort persona in that kind of environment and he couldn’t blame her. He was on edge too. Too aware of the bugs that were listening to their every word. Too aware of the necessity of hiding behind who they were supposed to be. He thought back to her lying naked in their bed in her candy box apartment and he longed for those simple moments when they could be just _Effie_ and _Haymitch_.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” he asked, not bothering to look at her. He could do without the sight of her moss green puffy dress, the heavy make-up and the purple wig.

Arms sneaked around his waist and her weight rested against his back. He automatically covered her hands with his free one. Her fingers were devoid of the huge diamond rings, the only one left was the iris shaped one. Her bangles were gone too and, when she raised on tip toe to press a kiss on the side of his neck, he realized she must have been ready for bed. She smelt like her flowery shampoo, not the expensive perfume she otherwise favored.

Maybe it was later than he had thought.

“I found _the_ _most_ peculiar thing in my jewelry box…” she teased. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about _mysterious_ sapphire earrings appearing out of nowhere, by any chance?”

He smirked, his fingers drumming a nervous short beat on her wrist. “Should I?”

She muffled her giggles against his shoulder and it was such a youngish rare sound nowadays that his smirk softened. “They are beautiful. _Thank you_.”

He shrugged, a little embarrassed. He had left them in the jewelry box because he hadn’t wanted to make a fuss about it. Her father’s comments a couple of weeks earlier had rattled him and, truth be told, he had enjoyed picking up something for her. He didn’t intend to make a habit of covering her with gifts. She was spoiled enough as it was in his opinion but _sometimes_ … Well, it had felt good to think about something else but the Tour and it had felt good to look for something that would please her. Even if he had been forced to suffer unbearable shop girls with wide enamored eyes who had kept repeating how _lucky_ Effie was.

“Check my pocket.” he muttered.

“Is that an innuendo?” she grinned, her mouth attacking his neck with gusto.

One of her hands retreated from his waist to sneak into the pocket of his pants, making a show of feeling around. He was in no mind to stop her. She froze when she felt the sharp diamonds under her fingertips though. She pulled out the matching necklace and completely let go of him to inspect it, her lips open in surprise.

The girl at the shop had _sworn_ it would be better to take the whole set. There was a bracelet too but he was keeping that for another time. Her birthday or maybe their wedding anniversary – which date he would unfortunately never forget.

She was wearing the earrings, he noticed. They looked good on her. They were round sapphire lined with tiny sparkly diamonds. The necklace was more of a pendant really, the chain was covered with two rows of the same tiny diamonds and the blue gem was shaped like a heart lined with bigger diamonds. It was a bit corny but he had been certain she would like it as soon as he saw it. It was outlandish, a bit ridiculous and romantic enough that she would make a fuss about it. The sapphire were just the right shade to bring out her eyes too.

He had been right, she _was_ ready for bed. She was wearing her silk dressing gown, no wig and no make-up.

“Haymitch…” she breathed out, finally finding her voice again. “You… You _shouldn’t_ have. You don’t have to…”

“Don’t like it?” he frowned, suddenly feeling unsure. He was out of his territory here. He had never really given gifts to anyone before. Nothing that actually counted at least. And certainly not to a woman.

“Of course I like it!” she protested, pressing the necklace close to her heart. “Are you crazy? It is _beautiful.”_

“Then what’s the problem?” he grumbled. “Just put it on.”

She studied him for a second and then turned around, waiting for him to fasten it around her neck. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe before complying, struggling a little with the delicate clasp. He brushed his fingers against her nape once he was done, not resisting the urge to playfully nibble on the offered flesh.

“I love it. Thank you.” she whispered.

She sounded a bit unsure and he pressed a last kiss on the back of her neck before placing his hands on her shoulders. “What?”

He didn’t try to mask his impatience or his annoyance. That wasn’t how he had thought it would go. It was supposed to be a nice thing and…

“It isn’t like you to give me jewelry, that’s all.” she answered quietly, a bit wary. “Men… In my experience, when men offer you jewelry at random it usually means they have something to make up for.”

“ _Shitty_ world you live in.” he snorted, relaxing a little. “Earrings are for… Look, I know the last six months haven’t been a walk in the park. I know I ain’t… _easy_ to be with.” He rolled his eyes. “Never been, really, but especially right now. You stuck with me. You _always_ sticks with me and that’s…”

She turned around with a small offended frown of her own. “I will _never_ leave you. I do _not_ care how difficult you can get. I am used to difficult. I have been dealing with you _for_ _years_.”

“Yeah, well…” he smirked. “Just wanted to do something nice for you. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure the next month is gonna be _very_ bad, sweetheart.”

Her kiss was unwavering and there was a hard spark in her eyes when she drew back. “We will get through it. And then… Then the worst will be over.”

“If you say so…” he snorted, doubtful. His fingers brushed against the sapphire around her neck.

“What is the necklace for?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “You said _the earrings_ were for the last six months…”

He fingered the heart-shaped gem. It was heavier than he had thought it would be but it didn’t seem to bother her. She wore heavier _shit_ in the name of fashion, he figured. “For the last thirteen years.” He shrugged. “Could never have done it without you. You were the best escort I ever had. So… Yeah… I guess…” He averted his eyes, feeling very awkward, and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a parting gift. Of sort. Cause we’re not really parting.”

“Oh.” she said, placing her hand over the necklace. “I never expected this from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” he mumbled, turning back to look through the window. He believed they were somewhere in the stretch of wilderness not far from Six. “I know I ain’t one of your Capitol pricks… Never gonna be _that_ … I know I ain’t treating you the way you’re used to…”

“You are treating me like a real person.” she cut him off, snuggling against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, brought her closer to his chest… “I am not a trophy to you. I am not… You see _me_. I do not need you to act like a Capitol, Haymitch. I do not want you too. I love _you_. Rude and uncouth.” She sighed. “I appreciate the gifts, do not misunderstand me, they are lovely… But this is about something my family said, isn’t it?”

He pressed a long kiss against the top of her head before resting his cheek against it.

“In part.” he admitted. “Other part… Should do more stuff for you. You do a lot for me. I ain’t… I ain’t _ungrateful_ or whatever. And… I don’t show you enough that I…”

His voice trailed off but she didn’t need him to finish. She pouted. He couldn’t see her face but he heard it in her voice. “You show me every time you touch me.”

“Is that so?” he mocked, feeling the need to bring some levity back. The conversation had grown much more serious than he had expected. “If I’d known how you felt about that I’d have saved the money.”

“Insufferable man!” she chuckled, whacking his stomach.

He tightened his hold on her though. As uncomfortable as he was, it was important to him that she knew.

“I mean it.” he insisted after a few seconds spent watching the landscape flash by.

“I never doubted.” she promised. “I love my gifts but you don’t need to cover me with diamonds. What you give me… It is more precious than all the jewels in the world. It is all too rare in the Capitol.”

He thought back to the girl he had met thirteen years earlier, the girl who hadn’t been so different from his future escort…

She had come a long way. 

They both had, he supposed.

Because if you had told the twenty-eight year-old man he had been then that he would willingly go back to another arena and win for a second time for the love of a Capitol woman… He would have laughed out loud.

“You make me happy.” he confessed. He wasn’t happy every minute of every day but with her… She made everything bearable. She made everything _better_. It wasn’t bliss and it would never be but it was a far cry from living like a hermit with only liquor for company. He needed her to know because he sensed the Tour would erase any progress he had made.

She gently forced him to look at her with the lightest pressure of her fingertips on his cheek. “And _you_ make _me_ happy.”

He searched her eyes, not quite able to believe her.

He didn’t understand what she could find in him. He was a burden, he was aware of it. He had nightmares and he was grumpy when he wasn’t outright angry… They argued all the time… He mocked her without mercy… Sure, he enjoyed the thrill of a fight and the quick banter… Sure, her eyes always lit up like a Christmas tree when he told her she was beautiful… Sure, he was always a bit amused by the possessive claim of her hand on his arm or on his thigh when they were out… Sure, it turned her on when he was jealous… Sure, he loved waking up with her in his arms and her hair in his face… Sure, she seemed to enjoy distracting him while he cooked breakfast… Sure, they still had fun in bed… There were good moments. He simply was afraid they weren’t enough to outbalance the bad ones.

But she loved him.

God knew why but _she loved him_.

And maybe that explained everything.

She had claimed she couldn’t live without him. He was one hundred percent sure he couldn’t live without her.

“The Tour…” he hesitated.

“We will survive the Tour.” she cut him off with enough confidence that he relaxed. “It will be bad but we will survive. We can survive _anything_.”

“Hurt isn’t dead.” he whispered as a reminder.

“Exactly.” she hummed, pressing herself against him to kiss him. He felt her grin against his lips. “Now… I was planning to thank you for those earrings, you know…”

“Yeah?” he smirked. “How?”

Her nose bumped against the shell of his ear when she whispered: “I am not wearing anything under this dressing-gown.”

By the time his brain registered the words and he made a grab for her, she had sauntered away, giggling, looking over her shoulder, daring him to chase after her.

She was silly.

And he guessed he was even sillier for actually doing it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like this chapter? How do you think Haymitch will fare in Twelve? Let me know your thoughts!


	50. A Little Help

Haymitch started pacing as soon as the train slowed down from its high speed to an almost imperceptible swaying that meant they were approaching a District. Harwyn, the new escort and Effie were still sitting at the dinner table, with Effie talking loud and pretending hard there was nothing odd to his behavior.

Alys kept tossing him weird looks but he figured the girl should get used to victors’ moods and _fast_. He didn’t care much what she thought.

He kept glancing through the window, glancing but not quite looking because he didn’t want to see the familiar landmarks. His stomach was churning and his heart was regularly missing a beat and then racing to catch up. He barely listened to Effie’s instructions about how they weren’t restricted to the train but shouldn’t wander too far in case they got lost – the stylist expressed no interest in leaving the train before the designated time the next morning and the new escort… Well, she could take care of herself or die for all he cared.

The moment the train finally stopped, Haymitch was at the door, his shaking fingers fumbling with the handle, suddenly desperate for fresh air. He grew frustrated with the train’s resistance before long and, in the end, it was Effie who released the catch, her lips pursed in disapproval as she handed him his brand new navy blue coat.

She was wearing her own polar monstrosity so he supposed that meant she was coming with him.

Truth be told, he hadn’t been planning on going anywhere until he had to. He had thought they might waste the afternoon away in her compartment and pretend really hard the rest of the world didn’t exist – a game they more than excelled at.

But now that he was there…

He impatiently hopped off the step and onto the platform, looking around the station, not sure if he was grateful or disappointed to find it empty.

“A little help.” Effie requested after clearing her throat.

He automatically outstretched his hand to help her down, shocked by the icy wind. It seemed six months of controlled weather was enough to make him forget how sharp winter was everywhere else. Snow was piling here and there in half-melt puddles, it covered the trees and the station’s roof… A path had been cleared for their visit but the whole District must have been covered under its blanket, he figured.

“I wanna walk around.” he said, not quite sure why.

“Of course.” she agreed easily. “But we _do_ need to go see Peeta at some point, darling.”

His stomach churned once more at that prospect but he gave her a sharp nod. He hadn’t talked to the boy in months and he wasn’t sure how their reunion would go. He knew he was failing the girl twice by keeping Peeta at arm’s length but…

Effie’s hand slipped in his and he took a deep breath. It was so cold it burned his lungs. It also felt cleansing somehow.

They had barely walked out of the station when she let go of his fingers to grab his arm, having problems staying upright between the slippery path and her heels. He had been right. Snow was everywhere, a deep coat that would have reached knee-length if it hadn’t been pushed to the side of the main road.

His throat closed when he spotted Undersee almost running up the path toward them, obviously out of breath.

“Miss Trinket! Haymitch!” the man exclaimed with some apprehension. “I’m so sorry for being late! I wanted to welcome you properly – you know how happy we always are to receive Capitol guests, Miss Trinket – but there were some problems at the Peacekeeper station and…”

“It is _quite_ alright, Mayor Undersee, I assure you.” Effie grinned, stepping in when it became clear Haymitch wouldn’t talk.

She kept up most of the conversation, asking about the man’s family, enquiring about the District in a perfect demonstration of that small talk she was always so good at. Undersee kept shooting him odd looks but Haymitch simply couldn’t bring himself to _care_.

It was the smell, he decided. The smell of fresh snow and of coal dust dancing in the air, the smell of pine in the distance and the acrid one of turf coming out the Seam’s chimneys… It smelt like home.

And it smelt a bit like the arena.

And it was difficult to focus on Effie’s hand tucked in the crook of his elbow or the one coiled around his forearm. It was difficult to listen to the regular rhythm of her voice.

It was Chaff’s voice he heard. So clear he could have sworn his best friend was right next to him, telling him not to be stupid.

He blinked and the illusion was gone. He awkwardly shifted his weight on his feet and the mayor finally took a hint, stepping aside to let them pass, stating again that he was at Effie’s entire disposal. There was fear in his voice, not respect or deference but _fear_. Haymitch wondered if she noticed but if she did, she didn’t say. Maybe she was used to it.

They walked slowly. There weren’t many people around, everyone would be at the mines or at school and the few who had other jobs didn’t make a habit of lingering in the streets. The people who crossed their paths gave them a double take and then hurried away.

It occurred to Haymitch they weren’t just afraid of Effie or of her Capitol status.

It was _him_ they were fleeing from. The victor who had turned on them, who had renounced them, who had _rejected_ them… He had chosen the Capitol by staying in the city, by going public with Effie… He was probably a traitor to them now.

It didn’t hurt as much as it should have. They couldn’t understand how it was. They couldn’t understand what it felt like to hold someone you loved as they died by your hand. They couldn’t understand what it was to find solace in the arms of your so-called enemy. Effie had never been the enemy. _Never_. She had only been their tool if even that. 

The town was familiar and foreign at the same time. It hadn’t felt that way when he had come back the first time. It had felt like home. It had felt like freedom. _Somehow_.

They passed in front of the bakery that didn’t seem to see many customers, heard Peeta’s mother screaming at someone for slacking on the job… Neither of them suggested they stopped.

Effie was following his lead, her blue eyes looked around with curiosity – and pity – only to regularly dart to his face. She was worried, he could tell.

It was only when they reached the Square that he realized she was right to be.

The whipping pole stood right in the middle, a little as if Twelve was flipping them the finger, a group of Peacekeepers was mingling around it, their hands on their guns. There was fresh blood on the snow, a messy trail leading to the Justice Building as if a body had been dragged away in a hurry…

Pain flared in his back and it felt like he was tied up there again, leather biting his skin, the hum of the crowd around him… He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. 

Katniss’ shouts were ringing in his ears, distant but _oh so clear_ … _“No! You can’t! Let me go! Let me go!”_

“Abernathy.” a voice called behind them, neither friendly nor hostile.

He whirled around, pushing Effie behind him, his hand flying to his belt only to remember too late that he wasn’t armed anymore. Thread seemed almost amused by his behavior and Haymitch stretched his arms to make himself the target, to protect the kids… No… Not _the kids_. _Effie_. His mind wasn’t clear on where he was. His back was on fire and he couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” the Head Peacekeeper said in that bored tone of his. “Was betting on Everdeen myself. The girl had guts. Not much brains though.”

He took a step forward with a growl, his hands bundling into fists. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Effie hadn’t ducked under his arm and stood in front of him, a hand firmly planted on his chest, glaring at the man.

“That is _quite_ _enough_ fond recollections, I believe.” she hissed. “Unless you have anything specific to say to us, I would thank you to leave us alone, Head Peacekeeper. We have our own security squad and do _not_ require your assistance.”

Their own Peacekeepers squad had remained on the train though. It was a far cry from the previous year when the soldiers had followed them down to the restrooms every time they had stopped in a District. He wasn’t sure if that meant the Capitol didn’t care if anything happened to them or if Snow was _that_ confident Haymitch would never dabble in anything rebellious again.

But he had kneeled and begged, hadn’t he?

He had kneeled and begged for his wife’s life and he would never endanger her again. He had learned his lesson. And Snow knew him too well not to know that.

“Miss.” Thread nodded once. “Just wanted to make sure you remember the rules apply to everyone around here. No exception, victor or not. Be on your best behavior while you’re in my District, Abernathy. I will be watching.”

He opened his mouth to tell him to _fuck off._ Purely and simply. No more afraid of that man than he would have been of an ant. Who was he, that Peacekeeper? What was he going to do? Tie him up and whip him raw again? What was that compared to being sent to an arena and being forced to watch his friends die – _when_ he didn’t have to kill them _himself_? Thread was _pathetic_. A _bully_. And Haymitch would have gladly taught him that lesson with his fists if Effie hadn’t huffed.

Suddenly, she seemed to be standing even taller, all ruffled feathers like a goose about to attack. Her chin jutted high in the air, her eyes hardened and there was not a shiver of fear in her when she marched on the Peacekeeper and sneered at him.

“Do you figure your… _rules_ apply to _me?”_ she asked in her sweetest tone. There was a hard edge underneath though and the Head Peacekeeper was too much of a soldier not to notice. He stayed silent, aware he couldn’t quite answer that in the way he wanted to and Haymitch watched, _a little_ amused and _a lot_ wary, when she poked the man in the chest. “ _Well_?”

“Effie…” he warned. “Doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s go.”

It _did_ matter but…

“You do not seem so _eloquent_ right now.” Effie went on, dropping the charming cheerful act. She was furious, he realized. “Do you know _why_? It is because _I_ am _not_ afraid of you. You _cannot_ touch me. That is, after all, what your _precious_ rules state, isn’t it? Touch a Capitol citizen and lose your tongue. _At_ _best_.”

“Peacekeepers are here to make sure there is order.” Thread retorted, sneering back. “If you disturb the order…”

“Not only I am an escort, I am also one of the most known and loved woman in the Capitol if not _Panem_.” she cut him off. “Do you know what it means? It means I can get away with _a lot_ and I do _not_ think anyone _important_ will care about what a _pathetic_ Peacekeeper in the most backend District Panem has to boost has to say against me. Touch me and you lose your tongue _if_ not your life. How regretful for you because I happen to have a bone to pick with you.”

“Effie.” Haymitch snapped, taking a step closer, grabbing her arm. “It’s not worth it…”

“Oh, it is _very much_ worth it, actually.” she replied without even a glance for him. “Was he the one who used a whip on you?”

“I don’t need you to wash my honor or some _shit_.” he spat, tugging on her arm but she stubbornly stood her ground, very much in the Peacekeeper’s face. “For _fuck’s_ sake! _Trinket_.”

“No matter.” she muttered. “He is _most_ certainly the one who prevented Katniss from saying goodbye to her family.”

He saw it happen as if in slow motion and he couldn’t stop it, could barely tighten his grip on her left arm. The punch echoed loudly in the mostly deserted square with the sickening crack of broken bone. The group of Peacekeepers in the distance suddenly looked alert but none of them approached.

Effie, her blinding pink wig, her fur coat and her bright blue shiny heeled boots were too obviously Capitol. It might have been a different story in the city but _here_ Capitols were all-powerful. Nobody would have _dared_ touch one, not even a Peacekeeper.

Blood trickled from Thread’s broken nose. The man was livid, he took one step toward Effie but Haymitch tugged her back harder, trapping her against his chest, ready to shield her. _He_ couldn’t raise a hand on a Peacekeeper without serious consequences – although he suspected that Snow wouldn’t be happy about anyone beating him bloody right before the Tour, it wouldn’t exactly be in the Capitol’s interest – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t protect her. And that didn’t mean he would let it stop him from fighting back.

“Touch her and you’re dead.” Haymitch snarled.

“He won’t risk it.” Effie snapped. “He is _beneath_ _me_ and he knows it.” She gave the man a loathing once over, apparently satisfied with the way he was gingerly touching his nose. “Hurt someone I love again and a broken bone will be the _last_ of your worry. I can be _extremely_ dedicated when I badly want something and right now I think I _badly_ want you fired and forced to work in those mines.” She shrugged off Haymitch’s embrace to grab his arm once more. “Let’s go now, darling. I doubt there is anything else of interest to see here.”

Haymitch was torn between being furious and being aroused.

They were three streets away when he decided lust was winning the battle. He pushed her in a narrow alley, pinned her to the wall and pressed his body hard against hers. She responded to his kiss with just as much violence as he put in it. Fingers roamed on each other, trying to find their way under clothes, to cop a feel…

He bumped his hand against hers as they struggled to get her coat and dress out of the way so he could lift her up and…

She cried out in pain and his thoughts switched tracks very quickly. He stopped trying to get under her skirt to cradle her right hand in his, pulling off her glove with his teeth to inspect the damage. Why had she gone for a punch when she didn’t know how to do that? She had a _mean_ slap, she should have gone for _that_. He pursed his lips at her with annoyance, brushing his fingers on the bruised knuckles and then forcing her thumb to rotate a few times. _That_ brought tears to her eyes.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your hand.” he grumbled, scooping up a handful of snow to apply it on the injury.

“He deserved it.” she pouted. “He hurt you. And Katniss.”

“That was _reckless_.” he rebuked. “And _stupid_. He could have grabbed you. He could _still_ grab you. Put you in jail, call the city…”

“He won’t do anything to me. He is a coward, a _nobody_.” she scoffed. “I was the only one who could do this. He would certainly have hurt _you_ if you had tried and you were _dying_ to. I could tell.”

He shook his head at her, angry at her foolishness. “That guy doesn’t matter now.”

“He hurt you.” she insisted.

“It was a long time ago.” he shrugged. Almost a year now. It felt like a lifetime away. Another life.

“It left scars.” she hissed.

“Yeah, well, _losing_ _you_ would _kill_ me… You do that _shit_ again, don’t bother looking for me.” he warned, letting go of her to storm out of the alley.

It was a few minutes before she caught up.

The arm she looped around his was hesitant but the way she leaned into his side was not. “I apologize.”

“You’re not sorry.” he accused.

“I am not sorry I hit him, no. However I _am_ sorry for having upset you.” she amended, and then let out a frustrated sigh, waving her left hand in the air. “It is just… He was _so_ … Last time at the Reaping… And… He _hurt_ you, Haymitch. And Katniss… Do you remember how upset she was about not being able to say goodbye? Do you remember how…”

“That wasn’t Thread’s doing. Nobody got to say goodbye this year.” he cut her off. Not that he was defending the man. He had it coming. But it didn’t have to come from _her_. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is this a stupid ego thing? Because the wife is not supposed to punch someone in her husband’s defense?”

He opened his mouth to tell her it was _exactly_ that and then closed it. She looked far too smug.

“Shut up.” he ordered and then shook his head. “What if he reports it? You thought about _that_?”

“Even if he does, do you truly think anyone in the city will care?” she retorted. “I did not say anything anti-Capitol out there, Haymitch. I simply took care of a private business. And if someone asks me about it, I will simply say the truth: the man was horrid to me during the Reaping and expressed threats to my victor who was unable to defend himself because he was respecting the law. I will plead self-defense.”

“Sure, that’s believable.” he snorted.

“It will be my word against his and who will people believe? A respectable popular Capitol citizen or a nobody?” she dismissed without a care in the world. “Do not fret so. Nothing will happen.”

“Snow’s breathing down my neck.” he reminded her with irritation. “I put a toe out of line, you die. Forgot about that? Maybe don’t go antagonizing the people who want us dead, sweetheart.”

“It wasn’t _you_ putting a toe out of line, it was _me_.” she sighed. “But I promise to never punch a Peacekeeper again, will that do?”

He wasn’t amused at all and he didn’t like her dismissive stance.

“Don’t think you’re gonna be punching anyone anymore either way.” he muttered. “I’m gonna have to wrap that thumb if you don’t want it to hurt worse. Let’s see how you deal with a bandaged hand. Pretty sure it won’t kick off a trend.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and looked down at her hand. She tested the water by moving her thumb left and right but the pain on her face was enough proof that she had, at least, learned that particular lesson.

They weren’t far from the meadow now. He wanted to take her back to the train as fast as possible, leave Twelve and its painful reminders behind, but he knew she wouldn’t agree to it until they had seen Peeta.

The old rusty metallic gates of the graveyard caught his eyes. One of them was off its hinges again and was slowly swaying in the wind with a creepy squeaky sound.

He didn’t mean to.

But it was where his feet took him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Effie was overdue for a little breakdown of her own XD Now punching a peacekeeper... What did you think? And are you ready to visit twelve's cemetary?


	51. Lifeline

Haymitch wasn’t really aware of shaking off Effie’s arm but he was alone when he advanced in the narrow path between the freshly new dug graves. There were always new graves in the graveyard, that was the thing. Twelve wasn’t a huge District and lifespan wasn’t long. He had often wondered if there would come a point when the balance would tilt and there would be more dead people than newborns, if they would go extinct. Not that the Capitol would let that happen. They would move people from other Districts, the coal mines were too precious to be abandoned.

The graveyard was closer to the woods than to the town, almost overlooking the Seam, and it was more difficult to ignore the memories of the arena there. He licked his lips and buried his trembling hands in the pockets of his brand new coat, trying hard not to think that that coat was probably warmer than any blanket a family in the Seam could afford

Tombs were pretty simple in Twelve. The only fancy ones were the victors graves and he carefully didn’t look in that direction for now. Stone was too expensive, even for people from town, and most of the time, families made do with a simple wooden cross or a huge boulder, coffins were already an extravagance. With snow covering everything it was hard to keep track on what – or who – he was stepping on.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, though.

The grave was unassuming, lost between two others just as insignificant in appearance. There was a wooden cross that was dangerously tilting to the left and that he straightened by the force of habits. It had been a while since he had come there. The carvings on the wood were nearly faded.

He was hyper aware of Effie standing two feet behind him and he felt stupidly self-conscious. He didn’t even know what he was doing there truth be told. He had come a lot at first, in the months following his first victory, then he had stopped coming because there was nothing for him there. The grave was just a grave. They were dead and nothing could change that.

He hadn’t even been there to bury them.

Space was always a problem in the graveyard. There had been talks of starting another one on the other side of the District but they had never gotten the green light from the Capitol or something. It seemed so surreal to have to secure permission from bureaucrats at the other end of the country to bury their dead… If he had died as planned… If Effie had managed to get in touch with Undersee… They would have put him in there with them. They would have dug up the grave and tossed his coffin in there and added his name on the cross and they would _finally_ have been reunited and…

And he had survived them.

_Again_.

It was jarring to realize he had spent more time alone than with them. It was jarring to realize in a few years he would be older than his mother had been when she had died.

He outstretched his arm behind him, reaching for he didn’t know what.

At least until a hand slipped in his and he felt her come to rest against his side, warm and alive.

“Hello.” she said brightly, because _of course_ she was that sort of people who talked to graves. Of course. It made him smile despite it all. She was just so… _Effie_. She must have caught his amusement because she frowned. “What is it?”

He shook his head and pressed a kiss against her forehead just because he could. “Never change, sweetheart.”

She seemed a  bit puzzled by that but dismissed it, leaning heavily against his side. “Do you think they would have liked me?”

His instinctive answer was _no_ because _he_ hadn’t even liked her at first and she was an escort. They might have grown to be alright with it but he doubted it would have been a love at first sight kind of thing.

“You’re an acquired taste.” he deadpanned and got his arm whacked for his trouble. She immediately winced in pain and glared at her injured hand as if it had personally insulted her. They needed to take care of it, wrap it before it could swell. He gave a last glance at the grave, not feeling much of anything. He missed them, that was the thing, but it was a pain he carried around everywhere and all the time, not something he felt specifically when he was standing in front of their last resting place. It was hard to say what his family would have thought of his life choices. He hoped they would  have understood. He wasn’t foolish enough to think they would have been proud but he hoped they would have understood. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated. “Do you mind if… I would like to visit the victors patch.”

He shrugged, a bit reluctant but unwilling to refuse her that much. He led the way.

Katniss’ grave would have been hard to miss even without him as a guide.

The victors patch was nothing more than a somehow empty spot at the left end of the graveyard where tombs actually looked like mausoleums. Twelve’s only victor before him hadn’t lasted long, he wasn’t sure what the man had died of but his grave had been there for as long as Haymitch could remember and was starting to crumble because nobody cared enough to take care of it. Katniss’ was brand new and clearly regularly seen to.

The snow had been cleared from the white marble and it was hard to miss her name in golden letters, the dates or the proudly displayed _Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games_. That was standard, he figured. There were two marble slabs placed on top that had clearly been exported from the city and he wondered how much of that had been Effie’s doing. One of them was engraved with a sober _‘Beloved Daughter, Beloved Sister’_ , the other had a picture and a single ‘ _Beloved’_. It was so obviously from Peeta that Haymitch’s heart clenched. Someone had also placed a bow and an arrow on top of the grave – that was most likely the Hawthorne boy.

He hung back while Effie approached, not quite sure he had any right to be there at all. The corpse in that tomb was only there because he had _fucked_ up. He should have gotten from under that tree more quickly. He should have protected Katniss better. He should have been the one getting his head split in two. He should have…

“Hello, dear.” Effie whispered, placing her hand at the edge of the grave. Her fingers were quivering and Haymitch averted his eyes, staring at a bird hopping around a few feet away. “I miss you very much.” Effie’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath. “I am _so_ very sorry.”

He knew she was crying and it was too much for him.

He turned on his heels and stalked out of there, only breathing again once he had passed the graveyard gates. He had always found it very ironical that they were so similar to the Village’s. He leaned his back against the stone wall and felt around his pockets by reflex, looking for the packet of cigarettes he always seemed to carry around nowadays because he was apparently unable to live without poisoning himself. They were empty. He kicked the wall with a curse and rubbed his eyes.

_Fuck_ but he missed the girl. He missed her so _fucking_ much.

He had been clinging to his guilt for so long that it was all he had let himself _feel_. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her. He hadn’t realized how much…

His eyes were red when Effie finally walked out of the graveyard but if she noticed, she didn’t comment. Perhaps because her mascara was a bit smudged.

“We should go to the Village.” she suggested as if nothing at all had happened, sounding cheerful and just as bubbly as that new escort except it sounded extremely fake to his ears. “Or did you want to look around the Seam?”

“The Village’s good.” he muttered.

They walked fast and in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

The Victors’ Village was the same as ever and he felt the same dread walking past the gates as he always had before. It had been a prison for a long time. A self-appointed one, perhaps, but a prison nonetheless.

The fountain was still there, still broken.

The same stray tabby cat disappeared behind the corner of a house at their approach.

The grey sky still looked as if it was about to come down and swallow them whole and he still wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be a good thing.

The streets were deserted and empty and depressing.

“Haymitch!”

The voice was too young and too girly to belong to Peeta. It took him aback and he turned around just in time to see Prim drop her school bag and rush toward him.

He braced himself for the attack, certain little fists would soon barrel into him and harsh words would be shouted – and he wouldn’t deny her, he had _no right_ to deny her.

He braced himself but he was unprepared for the collision and he stumbled back, almost falling down on his ass. He caught her because he didn’t want her to hurt herself even if she was bent on hurting _him_. He _thought_ that was what she was trying to do at first, _strangle_ him. It took him a couple of minutes to realize she was actually hugging him.

And when he understood that…

He hugged _back_. Too hard probably but she didn’t protest, she simply buried her face in his neck, he could feel her cold nose against his skin. He thought she might have been crying a little too but he was too stunned to do more than hold her.

He met Effie’s eyes over the girl’s shoulder, adjusting his grip on her so she wouldn’t fall because her feet were dangling a few inches over the ground. His escort didn’t look particularly surprised but she was teary and she hastily looked away.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Prim asked after a moment.

“I…” he hesitated.  “It’s complicated, sweetheart.”

“Peeta says you thought we would hate you.” the girl insisted, letting go of his neck. He made sure her feet were back on the ground before letting go, pulling a little on one of her braids by reflex. She batted his hand away just like old times and it was so… _odd_.

“Don’t you?” he cringed, confused.

Maysilee’s family, his old friends… Nobody had wanted anything to do with him after his Games.

Prim studied him with eyes that were far too old and wise for her age. She looked sad and tired. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Effie had said it on countless occasions.

Peeta had said it a couple of times.

Alina had tried to make him understand.

But it wasn’t until he heard it from Katniss’ sister’s lips that he thought he _might_ eventually believe it. 

And _damn it_ if his eyes weren’t burning again.

“I missed you.” Prim declared, sneaking her arms around his waist and hugging him once more. “Don’t disappear like that again. You’re _family_. She would _never_ have wanted… _You’re_ _family_ , Haymitch _.”_

He hugged her tight again, feeling more humbled and grateful than he had ever felt before in his long life. That girl… She was _something_. He understood only too well why Katniss had been ready to give her life for her.

After a few minutes, Effie discreetly cleared her throat.

Prim startled and moved away from him, wiping her cheeks to greet the Capitol properly. It was a lot more subdued but the girl seemed happy enough to see her – what he got from the conversation was that Effie had been sending a lot of care packages to Twelve in the last few months and that the care packages involved clothes and girly stuff nobody really needed.

But that was Effie’s attempts at comforting a young girl, he supposed.

“Let’s go home.” Prim declared, grabbing his sleeve and not leaving him much of a choice in the matter.

“You still live here?” he frowned. He hadn’t thought they would have been allowed. In fact, he had been fairly sure Thread would have showed up as soon as Katniss died to chase them out of the Village.

“Prim and Mrs Everdeen live with Peeta now.” Effie informed him, sounding a bit put out. “Do you _even_ listen to me when I talk?”

To be honest, he tended not to when she talked about Twelve. She called Peeta regularly, he knew that much, but since it upset him, she tried not to do it when he was around. And when she talked about it… He didn’t always pay attention.

He wasn’t _that_ surprised though. Peeta was a good boy. He wouldn’t have let Katniss’ family starve in the Seam.

“Mom’s sick again.” Prim informed him. “She might act as if you’re not there. Don’t mind her.”

Sick was a nice euphemism for _depressed,_ he was sure. He wasn’t certain he was ready to find himself face to face with Aster Everdeen. He had planned on avoiding it if he could help it.

It might have been the coward’s way out but he stopped dead in the middle of the street. The girl was looking at him expectantly, as if she didn’t really understand why the delay. Haymitch’s grey eyes darted around…

“I… I want to check my house first, yeah?” he said, jumping on the first excuse he could find. “You go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.” He saw Effie pursing her lips but he wasn’t in the mood for her lectures so he waved her off. “You too. I’m just gonna…”

“I will go with you.” she cut him off. “You said you would tend to my hand anyway.”

“The kid can do that.” he countered, looking at Prim. “She hurt her hand, you can take care of it, yeah?”

“I would rather you do it.” Effie insisted before the girl could agree.

Prim’s gaze traveled from the escort to the victor and then she forced a smile. “I have to go home or Peeta is going to worry. I’ll tell him you’re here. Don’t be too long. We can have tea! I think he baked some lemon cakes this morning.”

“Lemon cakes, how _lovely_!” the escort exclaimed, gently ushering the girl in the direction of Peeta’s house. “We won’t be a tick.”

They were more than a tick and he was annoyed with her. He glowered all the way to his house and scowled when he realized he didn’t have his keys – not that he should have cared about that because the front door was open, just like he had left it when he had left on the day of the Reaping.

It had been six months. He expected his house to be dusty and smelly.

It had never been as clean or fresh. It felt a little like walking into it for the first time when everything had been so impersonal and cold.

“Peeta pays your housekeeper so she keeps coming. He employs her too now, I believe.” Effie explained without needing his prompting. “I think he was trying to do something nice for Katniss’ friend.”

He couldn’t really protest _that,_ now _,_ could he? Hazelle sure needed the money.

The living-room, the kitchen… Even his bedroom… Every room he walked in felt foreign. The stuff was his but it was too clean, too tidy. He liked his chaos. He liked that he had managed to make Effie’s apartment a little more disorganized.

This house he had never really managed to call home was not even _his house_ anymore.

He would grab his books, he told himself, because they were the only things of value he had left and then he would never put a foot back in there.

The first aid kit was in the bathroom where he had left it the last time. He found a salve of something that should do well enough for her bruised hand and grabbed her wrist without much care. He wasn’t gentle either when he rubbed it in.

She didn’t complain.

It irked him up all the more.

Her behavior had been stupid in the first place and he was still furious about that. She was reckless like she never used to be. It was dangerous. They couldn’t afford reckless moves anymore.

He wrapped her hand in gauze, making sure her thumb was secured, and then he glared at it instead of letting go. He had known coming back to Twelve would be _difficult_ but it was _worse_ than he had thought. He longed for the city and its pretences, the easy distractions and the loathing he could bathe in because those people were ridiculous and it was easier to judge. But was he so different from them when he had left his home behind for…

Effie was suddenly in his space, her mouth brutally crashing on his… It didn’t take much more than that for him to give a shape to his anger. The kisses were violent. He bit down on her bottom lip hard enough that he tasted blood and she reciprocated by digging her teeth in the soft flesh under his jaw. The pain was sharp, almost too thrilling.

He shoved her against the wall.

She grabbed the coat he had never taken off and tugged him closer but he didn’t want to play by her rules. It only took him a second to clasp her wrists high above her head, pinning her in place with his hips while he unbuttoned her coat so he felt less like he was about to fuck a polar bear.

_Fucking_ Capitols.

“I hate you.” he snarled and she drew in a sharp breath. When was the last time he had told her that? Months. A year. More? The words hurt but that was good. She _should_ hurt. He had survived for her. He had branded himself a traitor for her. He had given up on everything he was, everything he stood for. He…

He kissed her _hard_ , tightened his grip on her wrists, slipped a leg between hers… He groaned when she sucked on his tongue, getting lost in the way she was grinding against his thigh, searching for friction, searching for… He brought his leg up, propping his knee against the wall, pressing his thigh against her core to the point it must have been uncomfortable, preventing her from rubbing herself on him, keeping her in place.

He liked that she never _simply_ surrendered. He liked that he had to earn that. He liked that sometimes she just refused to give in until he had thoroughly fucked her and even then she wanted to be in charge because she was just _that_ bossy. There were days when he humored her, let her play with him like she wanted. Today wasn’t one of those days.   

He searched her eyes, looked for any hint that she didn’t want this because he was wary of hurting her, _always_ wary… But she didn’t look afraid or reluctant. She was always game, that was the thing with Effie, she always wanted to please him. Sometimes, he thought she would never protest, not even if he took it too far.

“I want your lipstick on my dick.” he stated.

She shivered, either aroused by his crudeness or by the prospect of him walking around all afternoon with that ugly shade of peach on his privates. He let go of her wrists, stepped back, and watched her sink to her knees without a second of hesitation.

She struggled with his pants and he undid them for her, not gone enough to risk her hurting her hand further. Then her mouth was _there,_ warm and wet, and he closed his eyes, stumbled back until he could lean against the sink, forcing her to crawl forward to follow him.

He had planned on fucking her mouth mercilessly so he surprised himself when he didn’t grab her wig. Clearly, it surprised her too.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” she hummed, giving him a teasing lick from base to head.

He told her. And every time he asked for something, she did it without question.

“Good girl.” he whispered from time to time, because that was what he always said when they were playing it rough and she was that submissive. He was fooling himself into thinking he was in charge at that moment though. She could have easily had him flat on his back and he would have let her ride him. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know… “Swallow.” he demanded, knowing she wouldn’t mind, knowing also that if she didn’t want to she would simply move back. She didn’t though. She took him whole in her mouth, almost choking when he finally came.

She coughed when he pulled out, quickly wiping her mouth on the back of her good hand, because there was one thing she hated and it was him seeing her drooling. _Not sexy at all,_ she had claimed once. It _was_ in a way, though. There had been a time when he had loved to make her drool around his dick, to fuck her mouth so hard tears would come to her eyes… It had made him feel powerful to fuck the Capitol. It still did to some extent and… It troubled him how violent and cruel his urges toward her sometimes got.

He pulled her up to her feet and embraced her tight.

Why was he still using her like that?

She meant so much to him. She meant _everything_. And yet there he was, using her to pass his frustration on… If his mother had still been alive, if she had known how he was treating _his wife_ …

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? She wasn’t _just_ his escort anymore, hadn’t been _for a long time_ , and he _had_ put a ring on her finger and… You simply didn’t treat your wife like that. Not in Twelve. In the Capitol maybe but he wasn’t Capitol. Unless he was. Unless they had changed him so much that…

“It’s alright, darling.” she hummed, her good hand combing through his hair. “I enjoyed it.”

He didn’t think she was lying but he wondered _how_ she could enjoy it. She deserved better. _More._

“Tell me what you want.” he mumbled in her neck.

“Nothing.” She frowned, he heard it in her voice. “We _really_ should…”

“No.” he cut her off. “Tell me what you want. _Please_.”

He would have dropped to his knees if she had ordered. He would have eaten her out or fingered her or anything she asked for. He didn’t like it when she got him to submit but maybe at that moment he _needed_ it, needed her to take control, needed to make _this_ even because…

He really didn’t want to be the brute who took and never gave.

He was dysfunctional but he didn’t want to be an asshole.

She relaxed in his arms and he tightened his embrace, planting soft kisses along the side of her neck.

“Tell me you love me.” she requested softly.

Here, in that house, those words were more difficult to utter. He hadn’t quite become used to saying them but they came out now and then when they were in her apartment. She said them so liberally, so freely… He had slowly grown comfortable with offering them back. They came out on their own volition sometimes.

They weren’t as frightening as before because they were a pact between them.

He loved her and so he stayed alive.

She loved him and so she stayed alive.

But there, in that house where everything was loneliness, pain and death…

He closed his eyes and breathed her perfume, let her presence soothe the fears he couldn’t quite suppress… He pretended they were elsewhere. At _home_. And it wasn’t until he had thought the word that he realized that it was what her apartment – _their_ apartment now, he supposed – had become. _Home_.

“I love you.” he mumbled at long last. “I’m sorry.”

For being a jerk, for being so weak or for taking without giving he wasn’t sure. She could take her pick.

“Do not be.” she chided. “I told you a hundred times already… If I weren’t willing, I would let you know.”

He kissed her hard but not as brutally as before.

“I don’t deserve you.” he muttered awkwardly against her lips, a bit too genuine.

She must have picked up on it but she chose to laugh it off. “And don’t you forget it. Now… _Try_ to make yourself presentable again. We _really_ should go.”

She tried to salvage her smudged make-up while he tucked everything back inside his pants, making sure nobody could tell what they had been up to.

He was a little more relaxed, at least. And yet he remained jumpy even when they left his house to go to Peeta’s. He had prepared himself to see the boy again but the moment the kid opened the door, everything came rushing back.

Promising Peeta he would get Katniss back to him. The axe in Katniss’ head. The blood on his hands.

He hugged the boy back after a second too long, his mind flashing back to the present with a stomach churning speed. Effie was loud and at the top of her flamboyant self, commandeering attention. She was doing it on purpose, he figured, so he could blend a little more in the background, let her handle the situation.

He was grateful for it, even if her high-pitched bubbly act gave him a headache.

Prim appeared around five minutes after Peeta had ushered them to his living-room – so similar to _before,_ it caused Haymitch to lapse again, it made him panic quietly in his corner not to be able to tell _when_ he was, before the Quell, after the Quell… It all blurred together until the teenager put a stop to the ringing in his ears by declaring regretfully that her mother was too tired to come down. Peeta and Prim exchanged a long look but neither of them elaborated on what that meant.

Someone, he suspected the girl, placed a cup of tea in his right hand and a lemon cake in his left. His mind was riveted to the painting that was hanging over the fireplace. It was Katniss in front of a sunset with the woods as a background and Haymitch wondered _why_ Peeta was torturing himself like that, making himself look at her every day, making himself _remember_ when…

His hands were shaking too badly and he spilled some tea on his thigh. It was hot but he didn’t feel the pain, not really.

He did feel it when Effie’s hand casually fell on his leg and rubbed the tension away as if she knew perfectly well what he was thinking. Maybe she did.

He felt _remote_.

It wasn’t long before the conversation circled back to Katniss.

From small talk to the heavy subjects.

Was six months really enough for the boy and her sister to talk about her so casually? To reminisce about her without feeling that heart crushing pain?

Haymitch _couldn’t_.

He couldn’t even _think_ about her without wanting to _scream_.

He woke up at night with her name on his lips, a despair too huge to be borne and a pain in his chest so sharp he often collapsed in Effie’s arms and let her pretend she couldn’t feel his tears burning through her nightgown.

He closed himself off to their voices, refused to listen, refused to laugh with them at how stubborn Katniss had been, refused to share memories, refused to do that _thing_ they called mourning. He didn’t want to mourn her. Once you mourned people, they were in the past. _Forgotten_. He couldn’t forget her. He couldn’t stop seeing her face. He couldn’t stop…

“And how are _you_ doing, Haymitch?” The question came from Peeta and the boy sounded guarded, almost too formal as if he was talking to a stranger and not to… _him_. That was his fault, Haymitch supposed, he should make more of an effort. Things between them were… _weird_.

He realized belatedly that it was the first time he had been addressed directly since he had stepped inside the house. Effie’s hand was still on his thigh and he covered it with his, clinging to her like to a lifeline. That was what she was anyway. His lifeline.

“I’m good.” he forced himself to answer, to lie.

“Are you back on the booze?” the boy asked casually.

“Peeta!” both Effie and Prim snapped at the same time.

“What?” the kid shrugged. “It seems like something I should know. I’m still his mentor, right?”

“That’s enough, I think.” Effie said, a bit cold.

“I ain’t.” he answered, studying the boy, trying to figure out why he was so obviously angry at him. “Took up smoking though.”

“That’s a very Capitol poison to pick up.” Peeta commented, not bothering to hide his resentment anymore. “How are you enjoying living there?”

“It’s not that bad.” he replied defensively. “And it’s far from this _shit_ hole, which is always a plus.” That was harsher than he had intended and he regretted it because Prim looked down, clearly a little hurt by that remark. He squeezed Effie’s hand, grateful when she got the message loud and clear. She got them out of there with a lot of flair and air kisses, making Peeta promise to be ready at seven sharp the next morning for the prep team she would send. Haymitch fumed but kept his peace until they had reached the Village’s gates. “What’s his problem?”

Effie pursed her lips, clearly irritated, but he wasn’t sure it was the boy’s behavior that had annoyed her. “I do not wish to be pulled in the middle. I would rather you work out your problems on your own.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” he scoffed and then he shook his head. “It’s all about the girl, anyway. He hates me because…”

“No.” she cut him off firmly. “It has _nothing_ to do with Katniss. Not for _him_ anyway.”

That was all she consented to say on the subject. He was tense and furious once more by the time they reached the train but this time sex didn’t seem like an appealing way of solving the situation. He let her run along to entertain the stylist and the future escort or to make sure everything was ready for dinner because _god forbade_ her schedules went through the window, preferring to retreat to their room – _her_ room, technically.

He needed a shower.

His skin was crawling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the Tour really starts... How do you think Eleven is going to go? Will Haymitch understand why Peeta is so angry? Will this Tour be worse than the last?


	52. Whatever The Cost

_Chaff Mitchell was the best friend one could ask for…_

Haymitch’s grey eyes darted away from the small card, resting on every piece of furniture in their compartment instead of on the words written in Effie’s flowery handwriting. Eventually, at long last, they fell on her. From his position lying on the bed, he had a good view of her. She was sitting at her dressing table, her blond hair pinned up in one of those quick-made distracted buns that left a few strands curling along her otherwise bare nape… She was still wearing her pink silky jumpsuit and that belt made of golden coins that clang together every time she moved. She was scribbling on her notepad, sometimes cross-referencing with one of the numerous sheets of paper spread in front of her…

He wasn’t sure if she was checking schedules or working on more speeches.

He had left her in charge of that, deciding that she had done a good job at writing speeches that didn’t scream _rebellion_ the previous year. They needed to promote Panem unity still, to put the stress on the Capitol’s generosity… It made him sick to his stomach but that was how it had to be.

She had her own role to play in that anyway. She was delegating, he had noticed that morning, when they had gotten ready to shoot what would essentially be the Tour’s launch. Alys had apparently taken the role of a glorified assistant. He wasn’t sure how the former singer felt about that but she had yet to complain. The girl seemed too much in awe of being there to complain anyway. Trust the Gamemakers to pick up naïve drones who believed in the glory of the Capitol and admired victors like the heroes they were supposed to be.

Effie couldn’t be behind the camera crew staff or on the prep team’s back as much as she would have liked – and how _happy_ he had been to see his old friend Coralus again, if he lived through that Tour without punching the man Haymitch would declare himself lucky – because she had to be there with him. It wasn’t quite a star-crossed lovers act they were playing and it couldn’t be like Katniss and Peeta the previous year. It had to be subtler, more natural.

He had gotten out of his house alone, for instance, looking overjoyed with the prospect of the Tour. He had clasped Peeta’s shoulder with enthusiasm when he had met the boy in the Village’s streets, they had exchanged a few words… He had shaken Undersee’s hand, had received the Mayor’s congratulations and good wishes for the trip…

They were supposed to do a quick sweep around Twelve, his favorite spots, a few anecdotes… That had been when Effie had walked on stage, looking radiant in that silky pink jumpsuit thing – because, according to Harwyn her outfit at the Crowning had apparently launched a trend – and her fur coat. She had mostly chided him so he would remain on tracks and not ramble on about something that would be considered boring for a Capitol audience. The banter was what people would want to see anyway.

He had stolen a kiss at some point, pretending to try and be sneaky about it, pretending he didn’t intend at all for the cameras to catch it…

The relief he had felt once they were all on the train and on their way to Eleven had been short lived.

First, Effie had insisted on briefing them all in the living-room. She had distributed schedules and had made a quick summary of what to expect in the following weeks – she, he and Peeta were all well experienced in that by then but Harwyn and the new escort weren’t. By the time she had been done ranting about security details, schedules and what she expected of each of them, Haymitch had been craving a strong drink. She lectured Peeta at length because he would have to be seen with various mentors and should, she insisted, stress at any opportunity how much he was still grieving Katniss – that was actually his idea, to make the boy less appealing to any grabby Capitol.

Then, she had turned to him and he hadn’t really needed her to tell him how he was supposed to act or how exactly she fitted in the picture but he had figured it had more to do with keeping the others in the loop. He and Effie were so gifted at reading each other they didn’t always _discuss_ things out loud because it was obvious to them.

Alys had seemed pleasantly surprised at being given responsibilities – small things like making sure Peeta knew the names of the victors they would meet in each District or helping Effie check on the rest of the staff, prep teams and cameras crew, so they wouldn’t slack on the job. Haymitch wasn’t sure how he felt about the new escort yet, he tended to dismiss and ignore her, resentful of anyone who would take Effie’s place. Peeta had been a bit cautious around her but friendly for the most part, which seemed to have sent the girl in hysterics because she was apparently his _biggest_ fan.

Harwyn had been told he needed to present every of Haymitch’s outfits to her for approval – which, admittedly, hadn’t pleased the stylist at all but he had grumbled his assent all the same.

It had been a long briefing and dinner had been a welcomed distraction. At least until the silence at the table had become far too uncomfortable. Haymitch had been trying hard not to compare it to the previous year, to the easy conversations, to Cinna, Portia and Katniss… At long last, Effie had remarked on the weather, something Alys had jumped on with apparent relief and the Capitols had kept on most of the chatter from then on.

Peeta had remained silent.

Haymitch had pretended he couldn’t see the resentful glares the boy was sending him.

Everyone had wandered their own way as soon as dessert had been cleared. Effie had begged off to check they were still on schedule and Haymitch had gone back to their room, knowing he needed to do his homework.

He had read the part of the speech about Seeder three times and had it memorized well enough that he wouldn’t need to stare at the cards the next day. Chaff now…

_Chaff Mitchell was the best friend one could ask for…_

He didn’t think Seeder had any family but Chaff… How was he supposed to look his sister in the eyes when he was the one who had killed her brother? How was he supposed to stand there and call Chaff his best friend when it was _his_ knife that had ended his life?

He could feel it still. The weight of Eleven’s victor in his arms as he fell.

“Say, you fancy a bath?” he heard himself ask.

Effie looked up at him in the mirror, blinking a little. “A bath.” she repeated, glancing back at whatever it was she was doing.

“Yeah.” he shrugged. “We could share.”

She watched him for a few seconds and then fought a smile. “You _are_ aware you are allowed to take a bath without me, right?”

But he never did. Cause she had the good stuff that relaxed muscles and it was one thing to climb in a bathtub full of girly perfumed things with her but it was completely another to do it by himself. He hadn’t been in the Capitol for long enough that he thought it okay to soak in pink water that smelt of cotton-candy by himself yet.

“It’s only fun if you’re in the tub, sweetheart.” he lied.

She pursed her lips a little in a way that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking but she abandoned her papers to stand up. “As long as you take those cards with you and learn your speech…”

He tried to focus on the words while she got the bathroom ready but the part about Chaff refused to sink in.

_Chaff Mitchell was the best friend one could ask for…_

It wasn’t a really long passage of the speech. He supposed she had kept it short on purpose. Instructions as to what they should say about fallen victors had been vague. _Pay tribute_ , Heavensbee had told her, _but don’t wallow_. It was a good compromise of that. But it was still too personal, too close, too…

She walked out of the bathroom, make-up free, and tossed the golden belt on the stool in front of her dressing table before coming to stand next to the bed, her back turned to him, her meaning clear. He discarded the cards to the side and sat up with his legs on either side of her to unzip the jumpsuit, pressing a distracted kiss at the small of her back while he was at it. He also unclasped her bra but he didn’t try to take it further.

The day had been too long and he wasn’t really in the mood for that.

She placed the jumpsuit in the clothes hamper and sauntered back in the bathroom naked as the day she was born, making him snort at her lack of reserve. He liked that, in truth. He was slower in getting out of his clothes. The jacket and the waistcoat, he had gotten rid of as soon as they had been back on the train, but the shirt asked him for focus because his fingers weren’t quite steady.

By the time he joined her in the bathroom, with the speech he needed to learn, she was already lounging in the bath. The water was a bright turquoise blue and it smelled of some flower he couldn’t put a name on. She leaned forward long enough for him to sit behind her.

The bathtub wasn’t as spacious as the one at her place or at the penthouse but they made it work. She leaned against his chest, between his legs, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding up the cards with his free hand.

For a moment he pretended to read the speech but every time he got to that sentence…

_Chaff Mitchell was the best friend one could ask for…_

“Walk me through the schedule again.” he requested, not quite managing to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

“We should arrive around ten in the morning.” she said immediately, good enough not to remind him she had been distributing code-colored schedules earlier that day. “We will all get ready, you particularly. Speeches are scheduled for noon. Hopefully there won’t be any… _incidents_ this time and it should be wrapped in thirty minutes. You will have a quick lunch with Eleven’s victors who will then take you on a tour of the District. It will be short. A stroll through the orchards, the sampling of a few fruits – it would be good for you to hand me one at that point so I can exclaim about how much we love Eleven’s fruits in the city and how grateful we are for the labor they’re doing here – then some children will come fetch you and explain to you how it all works. It shall all be very charming. _Peaceful_. After that, we will go back to the Justice Building to change for the evening. The mayor will do a short speech, you will thank him for his hospitality and then… Well, I trust you to behave during dinner. After that we will come back on the train and we will leave for Ten around one in the morning.”

He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the edge of the tub.

He had done all of that once already. The Tour was always more or less the same, aside from the previous year. He figured if they were back to touring the Districts, it meant that the riots had really been crushed. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Without Thirteen’s support it was a lost cause and would have only led to people dying in vain but…

And the orchards… How was he supposed to stroll in the orchards where Katniss had been killed?

“What about the families?” he asked.

“The families will be present for the speeches.” she told him even though _he knew that_. He was behaving like a new victor instead of a seasoned one. He knew all that. He knew everything there was to know. “I can probably arrange a meeting if you so wish. I would advise against channeling your inner Peeta and going rogue by offering half your rations.” It was a joke but it wasn’t very funny and she grew serious very quick. “More generally, Haymitch, stick to the cards. I mean it.”

The warm water and whatever bath salts she had put in it were slowly making his muscles relax but he still couldn’t shake the tension. “What if I choke?”

That was the worst thing that could happen.

He was a Quell victor – _two times Quell victor._ He was the new Capitol darling. He was supposed to be a paragon of strength, the Districts’ champion. If he faltered…. If he showed weakness… If he hinted he wasn’t as grateful or happy with the Capitol as he pretended to be… If they smelt the blood… He didn’t want to become the new Mockingjay. He didn’t want to become the new martyr the Districts would rally around. He didn’t want to be responsible for more senseless death.

“Read the speech to me.” she suggested. “Read it until you can say it without any hesitation.”

So he did.

And every time he came to the part about Chaff, his throat closed and it was impossible to hide the emotion in his voice. It made him angry and frustrated.

“It isn’t a bad thing.” she promised, running her nails up and down his forearm in something that shouldn’t have been as soothing as it was. “ _Everyone_ knows you and Chaff were close. It would seem far more suspicious if you didn’t show _any_ emotion. Just… Make sure you are in control. If you feel it is too much, pause and breathe.”

_Pause and breathe_. 

“I want you with me.” he said. “Up there on that stage. I… I want you with me.”

She winced, straining her neck to look at him. “I need to be backstage with Peeta. I cannot trust him to handle everything on his own. It is only his first year as a mentor and…”

“He and that singer need to learn anyway.” he shrugged. “You can make sure she knows what to do. It’s good. This way we’ll see if we can trust her to do something right.”

“Alys is really not the worst replacement they could have chosen.” Effie sighed, a little chiding. She had taken a liking to the girl, he had noticed. “They could have sent another Viola, you know.”

He made a face. “Oh, _shit_ , is that _bitch_ gonna be there?”

Escorts didn’t always make the trip to their respective District for the Tour, they only did on orders mostly, when Games had been particularly successful and everything needed to go without a hitch.

“It is likely, yes.” she grumbled. “This is a Quell Tour after all. They will want everything supervised. I will have to coordinate with her at some point.” She let out a long suffering sigh and sank further down until her chin was right over the water line. “Wouldn’t it defy the purpose anyway? If I stand there with you… Wouldn’t it look like the Capitol is breathing over your shoulder?”

“You’re not the Capitol, you’re my wife.” he scoffed. Not that they knew _that_. He rolled his eyes. “Girlfriend. Whatever they call it.”

He hated it when they called her _his girlfriend_. They weren’t sixteen years old to call each other _girlfriend_ and _boyfriend_.

“I am _also_ your escort.” she objected. “And I do not think we should take _that_ sort of initiatives. There is a protocol, we should follow it.”

She was right probably.

But…

“I’m gonna choke.” he muttered, fatalistic. He just _knew_ it.

“No, you won’t.” she coaxed, reaching behind her for his neck. He kissed the inside of her wrist just because it was close to his face. “You are used to this, Haymitch. It is _no_ different than going on Caesar’s show and talking about our dead tributes. It is _no_ different than the countless red carpets you went to. It is _no_ different than waving and smiling for the cameras outside the Center.”

But it _was_.

Because there were no more friends to make fun of it with afterwards, to make less a big deal of it than it was. 

And it was their blood on his hands.

“It’d be easier if you were with me.” he sulked. “You’re good at stealing the spotlight.”

“And I will _gladly_ steal it as much as I can to spare you during the rest of the day but I am afraid for the speeches you have to be on your own.” she said gently. “If worse comes to worse, simply read. Do not look up, do not look at anyone, just _read_.”

He shook his head. “It needs to be _genuine_.”

“Do not worry.” she tried to reassure him.

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” he snapped. It was her who would pay the price if someone got it into their head to attack a Peacekeeper in his name. Or if she went around punching more Peacekeepers… He tossed the cards aside and cradled her injured hand in his. She had renounced wearing the bandage that morning, claiming it dampened her style. She was avoiding using her thumb but he didn’t think it was serious. “Don’t do anything reckless, yeah? _Best_ behavior, Effie. _Promise me_.”

“That _you_ would request that of _me_ is laughable.” she snorted but rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to hit anyone else with that hand anyway, do not fret. It was just that man… He _irked_ me so. From the very first time I saw him…” She shook her head. “He _whipped_ you.”

She rarely stated it so plainly. There was so much pure hatred in her voice… It contrasted with the love she always showed when she kissed his scars.

“We don’t go for revenge.” he told her seriously. “We can’t afford it. We stay alive. That’s all we can do _._ We stay alive. We keep _the boy_ alive and as safe as we can. _We stay alive_. Whatever the cost.”

They had gone too far now.

They might as well go to the end of the road.

She rested her head more firmly against his chest. “Rehearse the speech again.”

He let out a deep breath but started talking anyway, reciting most of it from memory, making up what he was forgetting.

He would need to get it right the next day.

He didn’t have a choice.

He had to get through it.

“Chaff Mitchell was the best friend one could ask for _…_ ” he gritted through clenched teeth.

… and Chaff Mitchell would have kicked his ass if he ever got his girl killed just because he couldn’t say Eleven’s victor’s name without flinching in guilt and sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will he choke? Will they manage to keep everyone safe? Will this Tour be a success? Will Haymitch ever admits he likes a good bath? Let me know your thoughts!


	53. Dead Kids Walking

Haymitch breathed out the smoke of his cigarette, careful to keep the glowing tip away from the paper when he flipped to the next card. The living-room car was as good a place as any to be alone at that time of day, the train wasn’t exactly built with privacy in mind. He wasn’t sure where the others were and that suited him just fine like that. With any luck, he wouldn’t see a soul until it was time for dinner.

He was in a foul mood and made no excuse for it so they all tended to give him a wide berth. Even Effie gave him as much space as she could.

“Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.” he droned out with bitterness, flicking ash in the ashtray Effie had pointedly placed in the middle of the coffee table a few days earlier. He knew how to give those words the right tone by now, to make them ring _just_ _right_.

And didn’t he just _love_ being the Capitol’s mouthpiece.

Eleven had been just as awful as he had been expecting. Standing on that stage, staring straight at Fay Mitchell’s face while he talked about how her brother had been his best friend, his _ally_ – an ally he had _murdered_ … Parading around the District, pretending not to notice the haunted looks, the famished frames, the overabundant numbers of Peacekeeper squads patrolling… He had played it as rehearsed even if he had been furious enough to _explode_. Effie’s patronizing remarks about how they _really_ knew how to grow fruits out there, her casual attitude faced with people who were little more than slaves… He knew it was a necessary act but it had made his blood boil.

The worst had been standing in the orchards though. The Mayor had kept talking and talking, explaining how everything worked, how happy everyone was to work there… And all he had been able to see was the tree falling again and again… If Effie hadn’t been holding his hand, if she hadn’t squeezed his fingers to the point of pain every time he had lost his breath, if she hadn’t _grounded_ him…

He had cried when he had been allowed back on the train. He had locked himself in their bathroom, had turned on the shower and he had sat there under the burning stream of water and cried until he had finally stopped shaking. Effie had been sitting on the floor on the other side of the door when he had eventually crawled out of there and he had realized, too late, that she had been banging on the door for hours.

They had curled up in bed and hadn’t discussed it.

Ten and Nine had been less difficult because it was less personal. He hadn’t been particularly close to either of their victors and while the whole show grated on his nerves, it hadn’t been as terrible as Eleven.

They had been at it for almost a week now though and his patience was growing very frayed. What he desperately wanted was the sweet oblivion that whiskey or any cheap moonshine would give him. It was becoming harder and harder to refuse wine during those official dinners. Cigarettes were but a poor substitute. Sleeping pills had been banned from their lives ever since the Crowning.

He needed something to take the edge off and Effie wasn’t free enough.

She wasn’t sleeping. When she wasn’t obsessing over her schedules, she was working on his speeches. He wasn’t sleeping either because the nightmares were back with a vengeance. Sometimes he watched her work, sometimes he tried to distract her with sex that always ended up on the rougher side, sometimes he actually helped her. He always reviewed the speeches anyway, to make sure… He didn’t quite know what he was making sure of. 

“Panem _bullshit_.” he muttered under his breath, as he flipped the card once more to start at the beginning. He liked having the speeches memorized. It helped once he was out there on those stages. Eight shouldn’t be too bad and he was almost looking forward to it. Well… Maybe _not_. Yeah, there would be Alina and she was one of the last true friends he had amongst the surviving victors but there would also be all of Cecelia’s children staring back at him.

And the marks of the failed rebellion were everywhere for those who knew where to look. It weighted on his conscience.

The worst by far was being reminded of the arena though. Everywhere he looked it was there. He couldn’t tell where the memories ended and reality began. It was hell. At every second of every day it was hell.

The car doors slid open and closed and he looked up, hoping it would be Harwyn because the stylist never minded sitting quietly so he barely managed not to make a face when Peeta walked in, sporting his now constant scowl. Haymitch didn’t know if the kid was channeling his inner Katniss, if that was an attempt at keeping his dead lover alive… But he knew that the boy’s behavior was quickly becoming old.

Peeta was perpetually jumping at his throat.

It was all snide remarks or off-hand comments that hit too close to home. And he could understand because he would have been angry too if he had been in his shoes, Haymitch had gotten his girl killed after all, but it was starting to royally _piss him off_ all the same.

“Do you have to do that in here?” the boy attacked, on his case as always when he caught his mentor with a cigarette between his fingers. As if it was somehow worse than having to deal with him covered in puke or completely wasted. As if it personally insulted him what _he_ chose to do with his own _damn_ lungs. The kid _never_ gave hell to anyone else over this. _Lucky Haymitch_ whose job it was to apparently _not_ try to give himself a slow death through nicotine – as if the Capitol didn’t have remedies for every sort of illnesses anyway, as if they would allow him to just lie down and die before he was done serving his purpose. Lucky him who got to be lectured about wasting second – third? – chances at life. Although to be fair, Effie was smart enough to never smoke in public. He had caught her sharing a cigarette with Alys in Ten but she never did it in front of Peeta. And the boy didn’t seem to be able to _shut up_ when it came to criticizing him anyway. “This is a shared space. You could keep it to your room.”

“Or you could just _fuck off_ ‘cause I was here first.” he snapped, irritated with the passive aggressive act. He had a headache and he didn’t feel like humoring the kid.

Peeta should have been helping Effie anyway and aside from scowling at Haymitch and glaring at him, the boy wasn’t doing much of anything. Their escort never pressed the issue but she was running herself thin trying to take care of everything and teaching Alys how to do things the exact same way she did on top of it – and the new escort was quickly coming to realize just what her new job would entail. He figured, by the time their first tribute would die she would be ready to quit. Alys wouldn’t last more than a year he could feel it. Peeta was the mentor now, he was supposed to _help_ her. Instead Haymitch was forced to not only play his part as a new victor but to also make sure Effie ate, drank, slept and stop obsessing over things that were out of her control – like how disastrous it would be if they arrived an hour late in the next District.

He was glowering at the kid, purposefully blowing smoke in his direction, and anyone smart enough would have fled before he let his temper get the best of him. Peeta simply stood there behind the empty armchair and glared at him.

“You just _don’t_ care, do you.” the kid spat. “You’re so…”

“Selfish?” he supplied when the boy hesitated, almost chuckling the word out. It was bitter to his ears but what wasn’t nowadays? “Finally caught up to that little fact, yeah?”

“I caught up long ago.” Peeta sneered. “It must be nice living the perfect life and forgetting all about the stuff you swore you loved.”

Haymitch’s eyes darted up to the boy’s face at that. He flicked ashes by reflex and then slowly brought the cigarette back to his lips like he would have taken a sip of liquor once upon a time. To gain time.

“The perfect life.” he repeated flatly after a minute. “You think that’s what this is? You think I _like_ it?”

“Are you _really_ going to pretend you’re not happy playing house with Effie in the city?” Peeta challenged.

He opened his mouth to tell him that _no,_ he wasn’t _fucking_ happy, _no_. However, the words died on his tongue. Partial happiness was still happiness, more happiness than he ever thought he would get truth be told. And it felt like a betrayal to Effie to deny that.

“I’d give that up in a flash if that meant _she_ was still alive.” he growled because _that_ was the truth. “I wanted her to live, boy. I wanted her to win. So, yeah, I _fucked_ up. I got her killed. _Yeah._ And now you hate me, which is fair enough…”

“What happened in the arena wasn’t your fault.” Peeta cut him off angrily. “And I’m getting tired of having to tell you that again and again. _Johanna_ killed her not you.” The kid made a face. “And I don’t _hate_ you.”

“Could have fooled me.” he snorted, shaking his head. “You should. I would. And you’re clearly dying to anyway. Own it, kid, you’ve been out for my blood since this _fucking_ Tour started.”

There. It was better like that, wasn’t it? Out in the open. Give the kid a chance to say his piece, to let it all out.

He had been prepared for screams or accusations.

Instead, Peeta laughed. It was a painful laugh. All broken and disbelieving.

“You want to know _why_ I’m angry with you?” the boy challenged.

Haymitch averted his eyes, crushing the bud of his cigarette in the ashtray until there was nothing left of it. He was clutching the cards so hard in his other hand that they would be all crumpled. Effie would have to copy them and she would be mad about it.

“I know why you’re angry with me.” he muttered. “I came back and your girl didn’t. It’s…”

“Can’t you ever say her name anymore?!” Peeta snapped, raising his voice.

It was probably a legitimate question. Could he? He tried not to if he could help it. It was a dissociative reaction. _Instinctive_ , really. Exactly the reason why he never used the tributes’ names to Effie’s eternal annoyance.

_Girl_ and _boy_ were easy. _Girl_ and _boy_ weren’t _Stella the fourteen years old who liked chocolate_ or _Puck the seventeen years old who hoped he had a chance because he could throw a good punch_. _Girl_ and _boy_ were the same every year: dead kids walking he would lose at some point _._

It made the pain less strong. It made it bearable. _Survivable_.

Effie let herself feel that pain. Every time, she learned their names, she got to know them, she grew close. Every time she ended up a little more shattered for it.

He saw the cracks in her mask even if no one else did. She was a broken doll now, a pale copy of the woman she used to be.

Peeta and Katniss had gotten under his skin like rarely any tribute before them. There had been a few over the years, a few who had made it impossible for him not to get drawn in, not to get attached… But none who he had felt _could_ win. And then they _had_ , _both_ of them and he had stopped fighting, he had let himself love them because they had won and Thirteen was a real thing and Cinna had convinced him they could free Panem.

His tributes had come back from the arena and he had tasted hope for the first time in a really long time.

He had _hoped_.

He had hoped and the kids should have been safe.

He had hoped and he had loved and they should have _lived_.

And now the girl was dead and thinking of her as _Katniss_ hurt too _fucking_ much. There had been Katnisses before except they had been called Stella, Amanda, Lenie, Dahlia… There had been Katnisses before and it should have been the same but it wasn’t because Katniss had worn her way in his heart like no one else, because she had made him love her, she had made him want to be more than just an old drunk. He had hoped and watching that hope get murdered in front of him was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

And he was tired. Maybe it wasn’t fair to the people around him. Maybe he was being a selfish asshole but he was _tired_. It felt like someone had turned him inside out, as if his flesh was out and exposed, _raw_. He felt vulnerable all the time. Preyed upon. _Hunted_. He felt sad and helpless and it made him _furious_ to feel this way because he was usually a strong man, a confident man, a smart man. And now… Now they had put him in another arena, they had released the beast within, they had made him kill, they had paraded him around like a glorified murderer, they had given him to whoever wanted to pay enough to get him in their bed, they had made it impossible for him not to remain sober and _he didn’t know who he was anymore_.

He was tired.

So tired.

“Katniss.” he forced himself to say and the two syllables were like two quick stabs in the stomach.

He slumped further down in the armchair, shoulders slouched, defeated.

Peeta stared at him _hard_.

Haymitch half hoped it was over for today, that the boy would leave and…

“I’m angry because _you left_ , Haymitch.” the kid stated flatly. “ _Dying’s easy, Peeta. Surviving is the real bitch._ That’s what you said, remember ? Maybe you should try practicing what you teach.” The accusation took him aback but the boy wasn’t done. “It makes me angry that you didn’t bother showing up to her funerals. I understand why you don’t want to live in Twelve anymore but _her_ _funerals_? And what about _us_ , Haymitch? What about Prim and me? Don’t we deserve… _something_? Did you forget how to make your phone work?”

He clenched his jaw and stood up, walking to the window and the flat landscape flashing by. It would take them hours to reach Eight, they were lost in the middle of nowhere. If the train broke down and they managed to somehow flee…

“I can’t.” he said, not bothering to pretend he didn’t understand. “I look at you and I see the girl.”

“ _Katniss_.” Peeta hissed. “Use her name.”

Haymitch closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, trying to keep it even. He casually buried his hands in his pockets so Peeta wouldn’t see how shaky they were. He closed his eyes and he saw it all again. The axe coming down. The scream. His own shout as he rushed on Johanna. The sickening noises of bones being crushed under his fists. The blood. The open grey eyes that didn’t see anymore. The place where flesh and steel were joined.

“ _I can’t_.”  he insisted. He was almost begging. He glanced at the door, hoping to see Effie coming to the rescue but it remained shut and nobody came to save him. Nobody ever came anyway. Chaff would have, maybe, but Chaff was gone now. By his hands. He closed them into fists in his pockets. “It’s too much, boy. And before you say it, I know it ain’t fair on you but _I can’t.”_

It wasn’t what Peeta wanted to hear, that was obvious.

“Maybe you can’t because you know it’s your fault.” the boy spat. “Not the way she died but that she was _there_ at all. They wouldn’t have sent victors back if you hadn’t tried to launch a rebellion. Real or not real?”

Oh, how easy Peeta made it sound… As if it was solely his fault. As if he had been the one who had woken up one day and had thought _hey how about starting some riots today_ … There had been rumors flying around for years but it wasn’t until Cinna had told him everything that he had been brought in the secret circle. His alcoholism had made him a liability up to that point – that and probably the not-so-secret affair with a known Games staff member. They had gotten him involved because they had needed him to get to the kids.

_He_ hadn’t tried to launch a rebellion single-handedly.

But truth be told once he had been in he hadn’t wasted any moment in sharing his ideas.

He remained silent. What could he say? That Peeta only had one half of the picture? That it hadn’t been like that? That it hadn’t been supposed to end that way? What good would it do?

“You could at least have told us.” the boy continued when it became clear Haymitch wouldn’t say any more. “You could have…”

“The girl didn’t know how to lie.” he cut him off. “And you…”

“ _Use her name_!” Peeta shouted and the echo of his voice boomed around.

“ _Fuck you_.” he growled, turning around to glare at the kid. “ _Fuck you_. I _volunteered_ for you. _I saved your life_. I…”

“I didn’t want you to save _my_ life, now, did I?” the boy retorted. “I let you go because you said you would bring her back. And it was your fault we had to go there in the first place so don’t you _dare_ tell me to be grateful for you fixing up your own mess!” Peeta looked him up and down before lifting his arms only to let them fall. “You should have _stuck around_. You’re a _coward_.”

The boy was in pain, that much was clear. And it was his fault, that was also obvious. He should have taken better care of the kid – the _kids_ , because he hadn’t even spared a thought for Prim aside for how much she must have been hating him – but that was partly why he had never wanted any for himself now, wasn’t it? Because he knew he would _fuck_ up. That was inevitable. It ran in the family.

Haymitch shrugged, anger deserting him. “Sorry.”

“You should be.” Peeta scoffed and then turned on his heels to storm out.

Haymitch followed after a moment, once he was sure the boy was gone, keen to escape the now suffocating room.

He froze for a second when he found their new escort right behind the door but didn’t even blink at her eavesdropping. Haymitch didn’t know if she was listening for her own personal enjoyment or because she had been instructed to. He pushed past her without a word, not even bothering to utter a single threat. What was the point? She wasn’t even officially on the team yet that he already knew she wouldn’t last more than a single season.

His feet took him back to his room. He wasn’t surprised to find Effie standing in front of the wardrobe, frowning hard at the mess of bright fabrics inside. There were trunks full of clothes for him to wear in one of the last cars of the train, his prep team brought a new one every time they reached a District, but her clothes had to fit in there and with his every day suits taking some of the space it wasn’t as easy as when their stuff had been in two separate rooms.

“Do you think I should go with blue or gold for Eight?” she hummed distractedly when she saw him come in. “Or I could wear the pink one. But I was planning on saving the pink dress for Four. Oh, this is a _conundrum_ … I do miss Portia. She always knew what would work.”

The mention of their dead friend wasn’t a welcomed one given his state of mind.

He dropped on the bed, propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

He had never meant to hurt the boy the way he had. _Never_.

“What is wrong?” Effie frowned, coming to stand in front of him.

He tugged her closer and buried his face against her stomach, holding tight to her legs. “I _fucked_ up bad with Peeta, yeah?”

He felt her fingers in his hair before she cradled the back of his head.

“I tried to explain it to him.” she sighed. “But he is hurting and he misses you. The children did not admit to much but I could tell Mrs Everdeen was not really… _Well_. I think Peeta has been taking care of Katniss’ family and he might not have been prepared for that role, I think he believes that task should have fallen on you. And he misses the girl naturally. He is not… Can one grow accustomed to death? I feel like I have.” She winced. “That sounds horrible. What I mean is…”

“Got you.” he mumbled, sparing her having to clarify. You got numb after a while. It hurts still but it was something you knew how to ignore, _function_ with. He pressed his face harder against her stomach. “I can’t deal, Effie. I get where he comes from, I get he’s right, but… It’s too much. It’s _fucking_ too much. I can’t deal.”

“Just give it time.” she advised. “He is still grieving. We all are, I think. And we are all stressed about the Tour. It will get better, I promise.”

“I want to go home.” he complained like a sullen child.

“You won’t feel that way once we _are_ home and we have to pack everything.” she chuckled. “You still want to try out the Capitol country, don’t you?”

He wrinkled his nose but looked up at her. “Still sure we can’t find a solution that doesn’t involve living in your dad’s house?”

“He won’t interfere.” she dismissed. “He barely remembers I exist on a monthly basis.”

“He calls you a simpleton in front of me again, I might punch him.” he growled.

“No, you _won’t_.” she chided, more amused than serious, maybe because she suspected he was more bark than bite at that moment. He just _really_ felt like punching something. Or drinking a bottle or two. “You should take a nap before dinner, darling. It will make you feel better.”

The last thing he wanted was to sleep.

He pulled her on the bed. She squealed in surprise but lied down with him willingly enough.

He didn’t try to start anything, he was just happy to hold her.

Sometimes she was the only thing that made him feel as if he wasn’t a complete failure.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it goes at last, the talk that wasn't useful haha. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Just to clarify something because you know those comments that sometimes upset me XD The story isn't as action-packed as others can be and it might be boring by some standards, I get that. It's absolutely fine if it's not your cup of tea but I urge you to... move along? There's no point being rude to me just because you don't like the story. It's okay, it's fine, I won't hate you forever for giving up the story since I know it's a special one but I'm not paid to write it and I don't owe anyone anything. I had fun writing it, I warned a lot of times that it would be 1) dark at times 2) Haymitch centric meaning not everlark 3) it's a hayffie story so yeah it will contain lots of hayffie moments and 4) that the aim was more to do a haymitch character study in extreme situations more than action packed stuff. Anyway. Yep. That's it. =)


	54. Screw Bad Days

“Would you relax?” Effie hummed, snuggling into his side to nuzzle his neck. “This is supposed to look candid.”

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, watching the shore line without truly seeing it. It was warmer in Four than it had been anywhere else so far and he had discarded the jacket of his suit at the Justice Building and had rolled up his sleeves to Harwyn’s clear irritation. Effie had given up on her coat too, she was wearing a pink tight dress with silver platform shoes so high he wasn’t sure how she could walk on the sand without twisting her ankles.

“Give me a cigarette.” he demanded, well aware there were some in her small silver clutch.

“Certainly not on camera, no.” she refused without departing with her smile.

“Thought it was supposed to look candid?” he scoffed.

She laughed her fake laugh, loud enough that it would be audible a few feet away. He couldn’t see the cameras, that was the point. They were supposed to have _sneaked away_ from the Tour party for a romantic little stroll along the seaside. They were being filmed from afar, it was that time of the day when they should be stressing that their affair was a love one so nobody would get it into their head to buy themselves the Two-times Quell Victor back in the city.

He just wasn’t in the mood to lay thick the public displays of affection.

The speeches had been difficult.

Neither Mags nor Finnick had any family and the boxes in front of him had remained empty but the giant pictures had stared back at him. The resentment from the people had been palpable too, the tension high even as he had rushed through the speeches in a desperate attempt to make it go faster. He had killed Mags and he had had a hand in Finnick’s death. People weren’t likely to forget that.

It was Shella who had shaken his hand on behalf of Four’s victors and her grip had been far too strong, her stare far too cold. She would have gladly strangled him there and then, Haymitch had surmised, not only because Mags had been her mentor once upon a time but also because she and Brutus had had a fling back in the days and Brutus was dead when he was alive. Alina might want to believe the surviving victors wouldn’t hold a grudge but he wasn’t naïve enough to believe everyone would be _that_ generous.

They would have to look out for Four during the next Games.

“You found out where Annie is?” he asked, distractedly running circles on her shoulder with his thumb. How much longer would they have to _romantically stroll_? Certainly they had all the footage they wanted by now? And there was still the fishing boat to visit on the schedule, he thought. And then there would be a long hour of prepping and the dinner and…

“According to Della, she hasn’t left her house since the Reaping.” Effie answered, sounding sad.

Four’s escort, at least, wasn’t as resentful as others had been so far. He wasn’t impatient to get to One and Two. Cashmere and Enobaria had been legends there. But on the other hand, they respected strength so they might be happy to see him. Careers Districts were twisted that way.

“If she needs anything…” he hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much leeway he had but if he made sure it was discrete…

“The other victors are keeping an eye on her. From what I understand she has troubles coming to terms with everything.” she explained. “She hasn’t been left to fend for herself, do not worry.”

“Good.” he muttered even if it was anything but.

He had been worried about Annie. And he wanted to make things right by Finnick and Mags. He had a responsibility to…

Four was a beautiful place, he noticed absentmindedly. It might have been the District that had marked him the most during his first Tour. The ocean… He could remember thinking how much his brother would have loved it. Now though… He felt impermeable to its beauty. He watched but didn’t really _see_. It might have been his last opportunity to walk by the ocean but he simply couldn’t care.

Not when it made him remember about the sound of waves crashing in the distance while he ran for his life. Not when he could still see the ocean giving on the dam. Not when the arena was so present in his mind.

He was trapped in it.

Literally.

“Shella will take up the senior mentor role next season.” Effie says quietly, the seriousness of her voice contrasting with the soft smile on her lips. He didn’t know how she could do this so well, keep up the mask at any time. “You and Peeta will have to watch out. She is…”

“Already figured.” he cut her off.

The _you and Peeta_ was painful. Despite Alys’ presence he didn’t like the reminder that she wouldn’t be on their team anymore. A Game without her seemed… unbearable.

As if she had read his thoughts, she snuggled closer once more, placing a hand on his chest to effectively put a stop to the strolling. He turned to face her, not really surprised when the hand trailed up to his cheek. Her lips were warm and tasted like strawberry. He didn’t like kissing for show but it could have been worse. It could have been someone else.

He wrapped his arms tight around her waist and deepened the kiss to something that was a little less _romance_ and more _passionate_. She hummed a little in protest because she had purposefully instructed him to keep it sweet that day but whatever objections she had were soon forgotten. Her nails dug hard into his nape and she gave as good as she got.

He lost himself in it, allowed himself to pretend his elevated heartbeat had to do with kissing her instead of stress.

“Wanna go home.” he mumbled against her lip. “So badly.”

And he wasn’t sure at which point _home_ had become their apartment in the city but it was the place he craved right then, the place where he somehow felt _safe_ , where it was easier to forget about Peeta’s rightful resentment and his haunting memories.

He wanted the blinding colors to wrap around him, cradle him and comfort him.

“Soon, darling.” she promised. “Only three districts left and we will be home.”

And she would be officially discharged as his escort.

And he really didn’t want to think about _that_.

_And_ they would have to go back to Twelve after the party at the Presidential Mansion anyway. For the Banquet.

He couldn’t see the end of it.

He rested his forehead against hers and breathed out slowly. He just wanted some peace and quiet. Just _that_.

Movement on his right had him stepping in front of her before he could think twice about it, his hand flying to his belt where his knife used to rest. It was only the main director of the Tour though who came to tell Effie they had all the footage they needed. Effie nodded and thanked him while Haymitch tried to convince himself no one was out for their blood, that this was _Panem_ not _arena-Panem_.  She ushered him back up to the pier to the waiting Mayor and he made an effort to appear at least a little less confused than he felt.

There was more acting involved. Smiling and waving at people who had so obviously been paid to look happy to see him that it was almost ridiculous. The Mayor was tensed next to him, as if too aware that an incident could happen at any moment, too aware also of what it would mean for his District. Peeta and Effie were walking behind Haymitch, doing a decent job of pretending not to notice the tension.

They visited a fishing boat, discussed how beautiful Four was in tones of fake enthusiasm, Effie managed to place how much she loved their oysters – she _always_ promoted local trade in that way, it was apparently deemed good to keep workers’ spirits up by acknowledging them. To the owner of the boat’s insistence, Haymitch tried fishing. He failed and they all pretended to laugh about it.

They all looked like they were having the time of their life.

And it made him a little sick.

°O°O°O°

The hot water drummed hard on the back of his neck but Haymitch could barely feel it. He braced both hands on the tiles of the shower and he kept his head bowed, staring at the water pooling around his feet, not understanding why it was so clean when it should have been red with blood.

He was covered in blood, wasn’t he?

_Mags_ ’s blood?

_‘Help_ ’, she had whispered. He could still hear her raspy voice, hear the obvious effort to make herself understandable… _Help_. And what had he done? What had he…

_Forgive me_.

That was what he had begged of her. _Forgiveness_. A stupid thing to ask when you were about to murder someone. Had she granted it? He couldn’t remember. It was a blur. He remembered the softness of her skin under his forehead when he had leaned in. He remembered the sickening noise of the knife entering the side of her neck. He remembered how still she had become when she had breathed out.

He remembered…

Finnick’s suddenly limp body under his. The arrow jutting out of his eye like one of those squirrels Katniss sometimes brought back home. Not much blood.

_Not much blood._

“Nice job.” he used to praise her when she tossed one on his kitchen table, amongst the bottles of liquor. “Perfect shot.”

He felt sick.

The people in Four had been glaring at him. He had felt their hatred, he had understood it. Why wouldn’t they hate him? He had taken both of their victors. He had…

He shook his head, rubbed his face and then brushed his damp hair back. He turned the water off, not sure how long he had been in the shower but instinctively knowing it had been long enough that Effie would come looking before long. He had escaped as soon as they had climbed back on the train while she had stayed to entertain the others in the living-room car.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been but he knew it had been some time. An hour. Maybe more. She didn’t like it when he spent that long in the shower. She knew he spaced out. She knew he tended to turn the water so hot he was likely to burn himself. She knew he could scrub himself raw if she didn’t check regularly.

He was that guy who needed a minder now ‘cause he was also the guy who had tried to swallow an entire bottle of sleeping pills.

Except he wasn’t anymore, was he? He hadn’t tried anything in the last six months. The last six months had been spent playing house with Effie where he had tried to ignore his memories with determination. _His_ _guilt_.

And now he was waving and smiling at a crowd who hated him with good reasons, praising the enemy that had enslaved them. And he wasn’t even that bad at it, _lying, pretending_ … 

What had he become?

He stepped out of the shower on shaky legs and wiped the steam off the mirror over the sink. In the brief moment before it got clouded again, he met a stranger’s eyes. He had gained back the weight he had lost after his withdrawals and the Games. He looked… _healthy_.

He had been eating well in the city. Maybe not as often as he ought to but the food was rich and Effie obsessed over her diet so badly that, since he usually ate the same thing she did, he had ended up eating far better than he ever had in Twelve. Fruits and vegetables and yoghurts along with the occasional treat.

So he looked _healthy_ , healthier than he had ever been probably. Even his hair didn’t look as greasy and limp as it used to. Not with all the fancy shampoos she bought and he used because it was right there in front of him and he kind of liked the smell.

He didn’t look Capitol.

But he didn’t look like someone from Twelve either.

He looked…

He looked like a normal guy. Someone from a wealthier District maybe.

And that wasn’t right, was it?

Not what he deserved at all.

He toweled his hair dry, locked in swirling thoughts that told him he deserved pain and nothing else. He was a murderer. What he needed was _punishment_.

Stepping out of the bathroom was almost like jumping in a bathtub full of ice.

He breathed a little more easily in the steam-free room. The guilt was still gnawing at him but it wasn’t all-encompassing. Not when he could focus his attention on Effie who was sitting at her dressing table in her nightgown, scribbling away on familiar little cards.

She glanced at him in the mirror when he came in, her eyes roaming on his naked body with a slightly displeased pout. Probably because his skin was too red for her comfort.

He made a beeline for her and she simply put her pen down and turned around on the stool, watching him sit at the edge of the bed with her head tilted in curiosity. He took her hand in his without a word, his thumb nervously playing with the iris-shaped ring, letting her presence wash away some of his dread.

After a few minutes of him saying nothing, she crossed the short distance and straddled his lap. She was a little at a loss, he supposed, she always was at times like this. She wasn’t sure what to do with him and it made him feel even worse. He had told her once that he was sorry for being such a broken thing but she had shushed him and he had never dared offer that particular apology again.

She kissed him and he responded because that was her way to make him feel better and he was _desperate_ to feel better. It grew heated. Heated enough that he could pretend he wasn’t still thinking about his blade in Mags’ neck or holding Finnick down while Katniss shot him. He splayed a hand at the small of her back when she started rocking against him, his body accepting her comfort even if his mind was taking longer to catch up.

She pulled the nightgown off her body and he stopped kissing her to bury his face between her breasts with a small groan. _This is home_ , he told himself, _it’s the only thing that counts_. He licked the plane between her breasts, bit down on the swell of the left one, brought his free hand up to grab the other...

Her fingers ran in his hair, down his nape… Her nails dug _hard_ in his shoulder when he nipped too hard at her nipple and he hissed almost in relief at the pain. And for one second, a blissful whole second, his mind shut down. No more Mags. No more Finnick. No more wondering what kind of mutt that Quell had made him. Just pain and blind relief.

He looked up at her uncertainly but she didn’t notice, too busy kissing the line of his jaw… Her nail was scratching against his nipple in a way that sent blood running south very fast… Her other hand was back around his nape, tilting his head further so she could… Her teeth nibbled on his neck…

“Harder.” he whispered.

She paused for a moment and then complied, biting strongly enough that he closed his eyes and groaned. She immediately licked the abused flesh, kissed it to make it better, but he stretched his neck away from her, wanting to keep the sting going as long as he could.

“Haymitch?” she asked uncertainly, leaning in to capture his lips again.

He kissed her back, breathing hard through it, as he worked out just how he could get his mind to _shut up_.

“I…” he hesitated against her lips, not sure how to word that. “I wanna do something different.”

“Alright.” she agreed, sounding a bit wary to his ears. “What do you want?”

She would give him anything he asked for. He knew that perfectly well. If he had asked if he could fuck her in the ass, something that another woman would probably have killed him for, she wouldn’t even have blinked before offering to go fetch the lube. When it came to sex, very few things were off limits to her. It was him who set boundaries more often than not.

Which was why he was so taken aback when she recoiled at his next words.

“Want you to hurt me.” he mumbled.

She was off his lap and across the room in a flash. With her back to the wall, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, half glaring at him. “No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because. _No_.” she snapped.

He studied her, not quite understanding why she looked so distressed all of a sudden. He wasn’t asking something _so_ incredible by Capitol standards. And he was sure she had played dominatrix for other men before. She had done _everything_.

“I’ve hurt you before and you said it was okay.” he countered. They’ve always been rough and he had always enjoyed giving her orders. _She_ liked giving orders now and then. He didn’t understand what…

“It was different.” she hissed.

“How?” he scoffed. “Seems like the same thing to me.”

“It was different because I wasn’t using sex as a way to appease my conscience.” she scowled, looking _furious_. “I have _never_ asked you to hurt me because I felt I needed to be _punished_.”

“No?” he sneered.

That was a lie if he had ever heard one. All those years… And particularly the first ones… When they had tumbled against a wall, clawing at each other’s skin, tearing up each other’s clothes… It had been little else but trying to find comfort from their pain, blowing off steam, seeking oblivion for a few minutes… And she had always begged in his ear to fuck her harder, _harder_ just so she could stop thinking so…

She had the good taste to blush a little but she pursed her lips hard. “What do you want me to do? Tie you up and whip you like that Peacekeeper did? Add some scars to your collection? It might make you feel better but it won’t do anything for _me,_ I assure you. And what if it triggers you, Haymitch? What if your subconscious decides I am a threat and tries to hurt _me_? Isn’t that the reason why you never wanted me tied up or completely at your mercy? Isn’t that the reason you never wanted to push that far? You _hate_ not being in control. You _hate_ …”

“Hold your _fucking_ horse.” he spat, lifting defensive hands. “I ain’t saying I want you _whipping_ me. Where the fuck do you go and get those ideas? I didn’t mean _hurt_ like _that_.” He shook his head and stood up, rummaging around the dresser’s second drawer for a pair of clean sweatpants and a shirt. “Forget it. I’m gonna go for a walk. Need some air.”

And probably a quiet place to take care of his hard-on.

Her hand fell on his arm, light and hesitant. He froze but didn’t meet her gaze. In the corner of his eyes he saw her biting down on her bottom lip nervously.

“I apologize. I thought…” she breathed out. “You have been _very_ bent on hurting yourself every time you can get away with it, Haymitch. The boiling water in the shower, the cigarette burns…”

“Wasn’t on purpose.” he snapped defensively. He sometimes dropped cigarettes because on bad days he was craving a drink too much and his hands weren’t steady. It _wasn’t_ like he had gone and applied it to his skin on purpose. It wasn’t like _that_. Not quite. Not all the time. Not…

“I do not know how to help you.” she admitted in a quiet whisper, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “I almost wish you would start drinking again. It is a self-destructive habit I know how to handle. This… I do not know how to handle _this_. I keep worrying I will find you with another bottle of pills in your hand, only this time I will be too late and…”

He kissed the rest of that sentence away.

“Never.” he growled against her lips. “I _promised_.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, propping his head on hers. “It’s this _fucking_ Tour. It drives me nuts. It was getting easier in the city. It was getting…” Maybe not _better_ but… Yeah… _Easier_. They had a routine, habits… Habits were easy. Habits were good. “Every time we step off this train I go back to the arena. Every time I…” He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her shampoo. “Wasn’t… Didn’t mean I wanted you to hurt me _bad_. Sorry I asked.”

She tightened her arms around him and nuzzled his neck. “No… _I_ am sorry I overreacted. I know we don’t have the healthiest relationship when it comes down to it but… Hurting to punish you for deeds you are not truly responsible for, no matter what you tell yourself, is a bit _too_ extreme for me.”

“It’s okay.” he shrugged.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Forget it.” he muttered, embarrassed now. What he had had in mind what _clearly_ a lot more vanilla than what she had been picturing. He hadn’t been about to suggest they go all chains, whips and leather.

Her mouth searched his. He evaded it for a few seconds and then gave in because she was rubbing her fingers in his hair and it felt good. He lost himself in the kiss, let the heat grow back between them, let her nudge him toward the bed. He ended up flat on his back and she ended up straddling him again, her breasts rubbing pleasantly against his chest with every undulation of her hips.

Eventually, she stopped kissing him to brush her lips down his jaw only to bite down hard on his neck, without warning, at the junction between neck and shoulder. He groaned and cradled the back of her head, his hips buckling up.

She licked the path up his jaw, sucked his earlobe in her mouth before whispering in his ear. “Is that the sort of things you wanted?”

“Yeah…” he admitted, clenching his fist at the small of her back to stop himself from rolling them over. “Drive me crazy. Make me stop thinking. Make it last.”

She hummed absentmindedly, brushing her nose against his cheek, down his throat, nipping at his collarbone. “I can do _that_. Truly, you should _not_ have used the term _hurt_ for this. _Hurt_ means _hurt_ , Haymitch.” she chided him. “This is only playing.”

“Be hard.” he muttered, barely believing what was coming out of his own mouth.

That was _exactly_ everything he had always refused her. When it came down to it, _he_ was the one in charge. Always. He never surrendered. He never…

She sucked his nipple into her mouth and he grabbed her ass with both hands, grinding her down on his erection. She immediately sat up and frowned at him, coiling her hands around his wrists and bringing his hands in front of her.

“Now, now…” She clucked her tongue in disapprobation. “I never said you were allowed to _touch_ , did I? Behave or I will tie you up.”

There was a question in there, he thought. A choice. It could remain an empty threat or it could be a possibility. It had always been a big no-no for him. And now after everything…

But a part of him _craved_ it.

To surrender at last.

“Yeah?” he snorted. “You can try.”

She lifted a stern eyebrow. “You are being _very_ naughty, darling. You are _not_ supposed to talk back.” She grinded herself on him back and forth, putting pressure where he desperately wanted it only to stop, his wrists still secured in her firm grasp. “Not if you want _this_. _Do_ you want this?”

“ _Fuck_ , yeah.” he mumbled.

“How badly?” she asked, sounding almost bored.

“ _Badly_.” he offered. She didn’t look very impressed and he rolled his eyes. “What the _fuck_ do you want me to say? I want to _fuck_ you.”

“Language.” she rebuked, letting go of one of his wrists to whack his chest. “I do not think you are grasping the concept here… _You_ are not going to do _anything_ to me. _I_ am going to do _everything_ to you. You will simply do what I say when I say it. Yes?”

Again with the underlying question.

“Yes.” he growled his consent for the third time.

“And if I am not satisfied… You will be punished as I see fit.” she insisted, slapping his thigh behind her for good measure. “Yes?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Get on with it then.”

“Oh, that’s it.” she huffed, getting off him. “I had enough of your cheek. Punishment it is.”

He propped himself on his elbows, watching her curiously as she rummaged around the room for… He smirked when she grabbed a couple of his discarded ties. _That_ was something he would bet she had been desperate to do for years.

He scooted back up the bed until his head was on the pillow. He couldn’t help but wrap his hand around himself when she crawled back on the bed on all four, looking all seductive and…

“None of that.” she ordered, spanking him once. It stung but not for long. She wasn’t aiming to hurt. “ _This_ is mine to play with. Not yours.” He sulked, not quite liking that part as much. He didn’t like being treated like an object – even if he had made the same claims about her body quite a few times. “Now… Be a good boy and put your arms up.”

He put his arms above his head, realized that the position felt _far too much_ like being tied to a whipping post and abruptly placed his hands back on her waist before she could knot the tie around his wrists. He closed his eyes and breathed deep a few times. It wasn’t that difficult to ground himself, not with her familiar weight on his chest.

Her lips brushed against his shoulder, her tongue retraced the shape of the scar there…

He spread his arms eagle style.

“Like this, yeah?” he asked, his voice a little rough. “Not hands together. And not my ankles.”

She didn’t ask if he was sure but she didn’t rush to tie him up either, giving him plenty of times to get out of it again. Her mouth traveled up the inside of his arm, paused in the crook of his elbow to lick and nip and then went up again, to his wrist. When she finally wrapped the tie around it, fastening it to the metal frame of the bed, and secured the knot, it was so loose that he would have had no difficulty at all breaking out of it.

That was the point, he figured. He was restrained but only just enough to make him feel like it. When it really came down to it, he was free.

She repeated the process with his other arm and it was a slow torturous process that left him throbbing for her and wondering what had even gone through his head in the first place to want something like that. _Make it last,_ he had told her and he had no doubt she _would,_ when all he really wanted was to sink into her warmth.

“Now you are all mine.” she sighed with satisfaction once she had secured the second tie. That left her with a few spares and she brushed the end of one against his chest distractedly. “Should I blindfold you, I wonder?”

“No.” he said at once, very clearly and without a moment of hesitation.

Being tied up was enough experimenting for a night.

She must have known why he was refusing but she giggled all the same, hitting him lightly with the tie she was holding as if it was part of the game. “You want to watch… Wise choice.” She licked his lips. “We shall make it a good show then, shall we not?”

And then she started touching herself.

And while all he wanted to do was break free and _touch her_ , he lied there and watched as she rubbed herself with that tie he now had a newfound appreciation for, his mouth parched, and hard enough that he was certain he would come as soon as she would finally touch him.

She had promised a show and she made it a good one.

He was pretty sure the moans and the writhing were exaggerated for his benefit but _fuck_ if it wasn’t hot… And then, of course, she came and his own hips buckled because… There was a damp spot on his stomach where she was sitting, it was driving him _mad_. When she brought her fingers to his lips, he opened his mouth and sucked on them without thinking twice about it.

“Lick me clean.” she ordered but then she took her fingers away and he was thrown by the contradictory order until she crawled closer and straddled his face.

It wasn’t as good as being inside her but it might have been the next best thing. Not having the use of his hands made it more difficult to pleasure her but it wouldn’t be said he couldn’t rise up to a challenge.

“Come back here.” he groaned when she moved away after a few minutes. He knew she had liked it. There were signs that couldn’t be misread.

He got spanked once for his troubles. It had been hard enough to sting a little and he glared at her.

“None of that now.” she warned him, leaning down to blow on the sensitive area, making him wriggle. He wasn’t prepared for her biting down on it. What he wanted was to yelp in surprise so why he moaned instead was beyond him. She grinned at him, always so pleased when she could get noises out of him. “Did you like that, darling? Where else should I bite next?”

She blew on his lower stomach but instead of biting she licked this time. All the way to his navel.

“Effie…” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Wasn’t the deal.”

“ _Drive me crazy. Make me stop thinking. Make it last_.” she quoted him, running her hands on his inner thighs, forcing him to spread his legs. Not something he did often. “ _Be hard_ , you said. I do not think I am the one who is hard right now…”

“Effie…” he begged.

She was hovering over his dick and his dick _really_ wanted some attention now. Games were all well and good but…

He _did_ yelp when she bit down on his inner thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. That was _his_ thing. _He_ was the one who left hickeys near her sex to remind her who she belonged to. Before he could protest about her stealing his moves, her tongue poked out to circle his head. Then her teeth scraped his length. Then she spanked him again.

He was going to come.

He was so sure he was going to come that he groaned in frustration when she pinched his base tight enough to block the nerves and preventing him from doing anything else but _throb._

Then he stopped trying to keep up with what she was doing. She pinched and bit and nipped and sucked and licked and kissed and whacked and spanked and she did it all over again without pattern and…

He clung to the ties that were so loose now from all his wriggling it was ridiculous to pretend they were keeping him in place anymore and watched her torture him and he never wanted it to stop all the while desperate for release.

He chanted her name without even realizing it, his brain lacking the blood to remind him he was usually too proud to do something like that. He was desperate. _Truly_ desperate. He wanted to come but no matter how many times he pushed his hips up, she wouldn’t release her grip on his base and allow him his reprieve…

He was half delirious when she finally sank on him. She was so wet and warm that he sighed in relief. She barely had time to move her hips twice before he exploded.

He was too spent to do anything but watch her get off on him for a second time. She slumped on his chest and it was a mess. A very sticky mess that they would need to take care of before they went to sleep. But, right then, it didn’t seem like a priority.

He slipped his hands out of their useless bounds and wrapped his arms around her. She almost purred in contentment.

“My wrists hurt.” she complained.

“Your own fault for torturing me that long.” he grumbled, nevertheless bringing her hand to his mouth so he could kiss her wrists better.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she hummed sleepily. “Did I do it wrong? I did not want you to feel entirely powerless. I will be harder next time.”

His eyebrows shot up at that and he wrapped his hand around her nape, squeezing it. Not _too_ hard but not too soft either. “Next time, I’m in charge.”

“Oh, do _I_ get to be tied up?” she asked, a bit hopeful.

He thought it over and then made a face. “Ain’t sure it’s the best idea, sweetheart.”

She grumbled something under her breath he didn’t quite catch. He was too tired to try and decipher it. He combed his fingers through her hair instead, letting himself drift off. They would just have to deal with the mess in the morning after all.

“Did it work?” she asked. “Do you feel better?”

Well, there certainly wasn’t enough room in his head to relive bad memories anymore. His brain wasn’t irrigated enough for that.

“You should screw bad days out of me every time.” he mumbled.

It was still the best remedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did we learn today? (aside from the fact I still cannot write smut to save my life) Is Haymitch more damaged than reached the eye? Will it get better once they reach the city? Let me know your thoughts!


	55. No Good Choices

The door to the Training Center’s roof was already open and Haymitch groaned a little, not keen on sharing the place. He fumbled with the lighter, the cigarette already wedged between his lips… What he wanted was some peace and quiet, to escape Effie’s shrill voice as she babbled into the phone to arrange _whatever_ it was he was supposed to be doing next.

According to the colored-code schedule she had passed around that morning on the train, the afternoon was supposed to be free. There would be a party in the evening, obviously, but for now his time was blissfully his and he wanted some _fucking_ space.

Leaving the Districts behind was a relief. Two and One hadn’t been as bad as he had feared but he would never understand the people who lived there, the glorification of victors, the academies to train possible tributes… He had been very welcomed there. The victor who had won twice…

He pushed the door open and emerged in the soft cold. Winter was mild in the Capitol and he hadn’t bothered bringing up his coat. The sweatpants and the long-sleeve shirt were a bit too thin but he ignored it. He could deal.

It was sickening how happy he was to be back in the city. He wondered if it was a Stockholm syndrome thing, if he had been conditioned without his knowing… Or maybe it was simply that nothing in there made him feel like he had been tossed into a larger version of his arena. He would have to face the Presidential Mansion again but…

_Problem for another day._

He walked close to the edge and studied the city spread at his feet, letting his eyes roam on the colorful beads of lights spread everywhere around them… ‘ _What is your favorite thing in the city?”_ Caesar had asked him earlier, after he had been done greeting his fans at the station, smiling, waving, signing and taking pictures… Haymitch had shrugged and smirked _‘My girl’_. He and Effie had kissed, he had deepened it, she had pretended to be embarrassed and had rebuked him, they had bickered, everyone had been happy with the footage. The _Welcome To The Capitol_ interview hadn’t been the most difficult thing he had faced during that Tour anyway.

The cigarette still unlit, he turned around to survey his surroundings and found what he was looking for on the other side of the roof. There were small movements in the garden and he eventually spotted the boy sitting between two potted trees. Haymitch hardly ever went into the garden. He knew it had been the kids’ corner but he preferred the bare part of the roof, with its concrete low wall. It was there that he and Effie usually discussed difficult things, safe from bugs but not bothering to pretend this was anything but what it was. The garden would have made it feel too much like a stroll.

He hesitated for a long moment before finally walking over.

Peeta must have seen him as soon as he had arrived but he hadn’t made any sign that he was there so Haymitch was probably not welcomed. But… The passive aggressive dance they had going on couldn’t go on. Not only was it painful to have the boy glaring at him behind his back, it would only get more difficult as the years went by. Twelve only had two victors now and two victors meant they would have to work together at some point, there was no point making it harder than it ought to be. He knew the kid didn’t understand his behavior. He knew he was hurting him. He knew he had made a poor job of explaining himself.

He also knew nothing could be like it used to be with Peeta.

He knew himself and he knew his limits.

He had meant what he had told the kid. He looked at Peeta and all he saw was Katniss.

He lowered himself on the ground facing the boy, right in front of a patch of jasmine. The smell was strong and maybe it was another reason he didn’t like the garden. It reminded him too much of his arena. His first one.

Peeta’s eyes tracked his every move but the kid didn’t say anything.

Haymitch plucked the cigarette from his lips and turned it over between his fingers, not quite sure how to start.

“Give it a few years and maybe you’re gonna get it.” he said slowly, keeping his gaze firmly on his hands. “I’ve been at this for twenty-five years. It’s… a lot of dead kids. It gets you… _numb_ after a while. It ain’t that you stop caring but you just…” He licked his lips. “You learn to recognize who’s got a chance and who doesn’t, so that helps… That helps prepare you, yeah? You know they’re already dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

He chanced a glance up at Peeta. The boy was staring at him, _listening_. It was already something he supposed.

“Thing is… Before you… Twenty-three years… I only got maybe… _two_ who had a real shot.” he continued with a shrug. “Kids from Twelve… Don’t need to tell you they’re at a disadvantage, yeah?” Peeta gave him a brief nod so Haymitch went on, torturing the cigarette between his fingers so badly it would be too battered to be smocked. _Waste_. Then again, it was the thing in the city. Waste was expected, they could always buy more. “Last year… Can’t describe how I felt when I realized I got not only one but _two_ kids who had what it took to get to the finish line.”

“You chose Katniss.” the boy said, breaking his silence for the first time. It wasn’t entirely an accusation. It was the kid who had spilled his feelings for her and had asked him to do whatever he could to bring her back after all. Sure, Haymitch had already made up his mind at that point because as charismatic and charming as Peeta could be, Katniss had the guts and, ultimately, it was having the guts that kept you alive.

“’Cause she had what it took.” he muttered. “And you’re… You’re _soft_ , boy.” He raised a dismissive hand before the kid could protest. “Ain’t an insult. You’re a good person. It’s a rare thing nowadays.”

Peeta sighed. “You’re not a bad man, Haymitch.”

That was debatable and not the object of the conversation.

“Thing is… The star-crossed lovers thing… I convinced Seneca it would be a great twist but I knew they would never go for two victors.” he admitted. “Not after what Katniss had done with Rue anyway. That was…”

“I saw the footage.” Peeta cut in.

“You saw part of it.” he corrected. They hadn’t showed the whole thing at the Recap during the Crowning and they had been careful to never air it again. Katniss might have told him but he hadn’t _seen_. “It was powerful, boy. And dangerous. Chaff only made it worse when he sent her a loaf of bread…” He shook his head. “Changed all the rules.”

“It was brave.” the boy snapped.

“Yeah, it was.” he chuckled bitterly, rubbing his forehead. “Brave and stupid and _fucking_ inspiring. That was the point, yeah? Can’t tell you how much me and Effie were already sweating by that point… Then, the berries…” He closed his eyes and then shook his head. “The berries were the nails in our _fucking_ coffins. But you were both _alive_ and all the Districts were grumbling and… When Cinna told me about the rebellion, when he brought me _in_ …” He swallowed hard at that memory. “I _really_ thought we had a shot. With Thirteen not being as dead as I had thought… There’s always been rumors floating around but I didn’t believe it. Not until Cinna showed me and I thought…” He sighed. “They were gonna use the girl either way. She was supposed to be their Mockingjay but I only trusted them as far as I could throw them. Didn’t want her to become their martyr. And Snow… Snow was breathing down our _fucking_ necks.”

“No good choices.” Peeta said slowly.

“No good choices.” he confirmed. “I threw our lot where I thought I could keep you both alive. Freeing Panem from the Capitol… Well, ain’t gonna lie, it would have been a nice bonus. Everything I’ve always wanted. Revenge and everything. But… I chose the rebellion ‘cause I really thought it was the only way to protect the two of you.”

“You could have told us.” the boy insisted. “You’re always keeping things from me.”

“If I had told the girl…” He made a face. It would have been a disaster. “She was already figuring some out anyway. The less she knew, the safer she was. Same for you. Same for Effie.” He shrugged. “I _tried_ , kid.”

“And then?” Peeta asked.

“And then everything fell on our heads ‘cause Thirteen bailed out and I was glad I had kept you out of the loop.” he confessed. “Thought you would be safe. Both of you. Really did. Should have known better.” He accidentally dropped the cigarette but made no move to pick it up. It left him with empty hands though. “I wanted to save both of you, Peeta. I’m… I’m sorry I failed. I still think… Me going in was the best solution. At least I got _you_ out. It probably ain’t much of a comfort to you but _at least_ I got one of you _out_.”

Peeta studied him for a long time and then averted his eyes. “But you can’t look at me anymore.”

“Give me time.” he requested quietly. “I know it ain’t fair. I know you’re angry. But… I _loved_ that girl.”

Saying that out loud was like tearing his chest open and clawing his heart out. He took a deep steadying breath but it smelt too much like jasmine, it smelt too much like being trapped.

He fumbled in his pocket with shaking hands, came up with an empty packet of cigarettes and crumpled it angrily.

“I know.” Peeta said at last. “I loved her too.” There was so much pain in his voice that Haymitch started compulsively tearing the packet apart in small little pieces. If the boy noticed his littering, it didn’t seem to bother him. “I’m sorry about what I said the other time. And I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

“I was a jerk too.” Haymitch admitted. “Just… It gets too much.”

“I understand.” the boy offered. “Going back for a second time… What you had to do in there… I understand. You’re probably doing well considering.”

“Yeah.” he snorted bitterly. “ _Considering_.”

If you didn’t count regularly trying to boil himself to death in the shower.

“I’m impressed you didn’t start drinking again.” Peeta commented.

“Nothing to be impressed about.” he grumbled. “Want to. Every day I think I’m gonna cave.” He averted his gaze and stared at the oddly shaped potted tree on the left. “Can’t afford it. Can’t slip. Effie… _You…_ Can’t risk my family again.”

Peeta seemed to perk up a little at being called family and that was good because that had been the aim. Unfortunately, it also made the boy frown. “Why _again_?”

His mind flashed to the Everdeen’s living-room, to the fresh burning gashes on his back, to brushing the subject with Katniss when he had tried to convince her that…

“Remember my Games?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound even and failing miserably.

Understanding dawned on Peeta’s face. “The force field.”

“The force field, holding Maysilee’s hand while she died, that I went looking for a way out of the arena in the first place…” he shrugged. “I was stupid and naïve. Lost everyone I cared about.”

“I’m sorry.” Peeta said and Haymitch shrugged. It wasn’t the boy’s fault. The kid hesitated and then it was his turn to look away. “When I got back to Twelve… Everything was different. Thread had expulsed Katniss’ family from the Village, they were staying with the Hawthornes. Mrs Everdeen…” He shook his head. “If Prim didn’t force her to feed, I’m not sure she would remember. She’s… She’s not _here_ anymore. Her eyes are always empty.”

“She’s been through a lot.” he remarked.

“Yes, maybe, but…” the boy sighed. “Prim is a good kid but she’s thirteen and she shouldn’t have to take care of her mom like that. If I hadn’t taken them in… I don’t know how they would have fed themselves. Prim was planning on trying to sneak to the woods, to do what Katniss used to and that would only have ended in disaster. Twelve’s really not a nice place to be right now. Thread… Well, to be honest, he’s fair. He applies the law to the letter but the law’s harsh and people are starving.” Peeta shrugged. “I didn’t want to deal with all that. I kept thinking if you’d been there…”

“If I had been there, I’d have been drunk and useless. Would have gotten myself flayed on the whipping post for illegal moonshine.” he pointed out. “Ain’t good at taking care of people, kid. You’re better at mending things than I am.”

Peeta shrugged again, clearly not convinced. “Can you try calling now and then? I’m not saying I need you to call every two days like Effie does but… Maybe just once a month or something… Just check in. Prim would like that. She misses you.”

“Yeah.” he promised slowly. “Can do that.”

He would tell Effie and made sure she would force him to follow suit.

He could repair things.

“Good.” the boy nodded.

“Can’t ever be your mentor again.” he muttered awkwardly. “You get that, yeah?” It could never be like before, not with his guilt his treacherous memories, but it could be… _better_ than this hostile relationship full of things unsaid – well, he supposed most of those things had been said now. “It’s just… _That_ ’s too much.”

“But we can be friends.” Peeta stated firmly, with the calm of a man who had been forced to grow up too quickly.

“Friends.” he repeated. “Yeah. I can do friends.”

They didn’t have to be _best friends_ , they could be friends who sometimes exchanged phone calls and who saw each other once a year – twice maybe – to watch kids get murdered. Nothing he hadn’t done before with younger victors.

That was manageable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they talked... Do you think it will be enough to salvage their relationship? Let me know!


	56. Escorts Are Forgotten

Haymitch was so focused on the chessboard that he didn’t pay attention to the increasing loud voices until they were impossible to ignore. He looked up at Peeta who was trying – and failing – to get out of the trap he had forced his queen into but the boy looked as puzzled as he was.

Haymitch turned toward the living-room door with a frown. They had the morning off and he had taken advantage of Peeta’s offer of a game of chess, just to make sure he wasn’t too rusty. It was supposed to be his talent this time around. After lunch, he would go on Caesar’s stage and face a Capitol chess champion. It wouldn’t make for a riveting talent show but maybe he would manage to enjoy himself.

Then of course, the rest of the afternoon would be full of pampering for the Victory Party at the Presidential Mansion that night. He wasn’t looking forward to that at all. He was even less enthralled the long train ride that would take them to Twelve after that.

“No, I will _not_ calm down!” Effie’s voice thundered from somewhere in the penthouse. “I do not _care_ how respectful you feel I should be to you!”

His frown deepened but he didn’t stand up from the couch yet. Nobody had come in or out of the penthouse in hours. Whoever she was arguing with, it was someone from the team and he wasn’t exactly eager to get involved. It was refreshing not to be the aim of her ire for once.

Alys hurried into the living-room, all wide frightened eyes and fretfulness.

“What’s going on?” Peeta asked.

Their future escort cleared her throat and nervously twisted her hands. “Effie does not like the outfits Mr Harwyn prepared for tonight.”

“I _cannot_ believe you would do this to me!” Effie shrieked. “ _How_ did you even… _Haymitch_!”

Peeta’s eyebrows shot up and he hastily looked back down at the chessboard, suddenly completely focused.

“I _don’t_ know what you did but I have _never_ seen her _that_ furious.” Alys warned in a whisper, almost throwing herself in an armchair before grabbing a magazine to hide behind.

Haymitch barely had time to stand up before Effie came storming in, followed a lot more slowly by the stylist who was leaning heavily on his walking stick. The gem was orange that day.

“The _fuck_ …” he started because it was always better to take the upper ground with Effie.

“Why would you do _this_ to me?” Effie hissed, her eyes bright with tears. And he shut up because she wasn’t just _furious,_ she was deeply _upset_. A few tears escaped and ran down her cheeks, tracing clean tracks in her make-up. She wiped them away angrily. “I _cannot_ … This is…” Word were failing her and he watched, helpless to stop it, as her control finally broke and a sob escaped her throat. Peeta looked up, horror-struck because a crying Effie wasn’t something the boy knew how to handle – not that _he_ knew how to do that better. “ _Oh_ …” she breathed out heavily, clearly trying to keep a hold on herself. “I _trusted_ you. I trusted you _both_.” Her blue eyes darted from him to Harwyn. “That _you_ would _humiliate_ me like this…”

“My dear, you are being _quite_ unreasonable.” the stylist sighed. “There is no need to put yourself in such a state over this. Why, you almost look like your mother!”

Haymitch winced.

Effie _glared_. “You stole my designs and now insist I must parade around wearing them for everyone to see. _Worse_ , you somehow got _my lover_ to steal them _for you_. You plan on publicly _humiliate_ me and now you _dare_ accuse me of being overdramatic because I am upset?” Her face contorted in anguish. “I thought we were _friends_! I have _always_ looked up to you! I have _always_ …”

She turned around and rushed out of the room before Haymitch could even try to reach for her. It was too late though. They all clearly heard her erupt into tears in the hallway.

“What _the hell_ did you do to her?” Peeta growled.

“Yeah, the _fuck_?” Haymitch snapped, turning to Harwyn, hands bundled into fists. Seeing Effie so upset was doing nothing good to his temper.

“The outfits for tonight’s party are hers.” the stylist explained. “She did not take kindly to it.”

“ _What_?” he scowled. “That wasn’t the plan. The plan was…”

“The plan was to have some of her designs put together so she could see she was being unreasonable.” Harwyn cut him off. “And here we are.”

“It was supposed to be a gift, not a bloody _trap_.” he retorted.

He _had_ snatched a few of her more recent sketchpads before the Tour and he had handed them to Harwyn, mostly because the dinner with her family had been an eye opener on that front. Her mother had drilled it into her head she had no talent and now she refused to see that she _could_ do something for herself on the fashion field. Not that he knew a lot about that but if Harwyn said she could do it he was inclined to trust the man – he wouldn’t put his entire legacy in the hands of someone he didn’t believe could hold the fort.  And he _knew_ it was a dream she would never dare voice. Being the Head Stylist of Harwyn fashion house would be… Well, to her, it would be _an achievement_ and he wanted her to be _happy_.

So he had done what he had thought would help. He had stolen her designs and had passed them along, hoping that once she would see them sewed together she would realize she, in fact, _had_ some talent. That it would… _help_.

But he had never meant for her to be forced to wear them at the most important party of the year.

“I have known Effie for a very long time.” the stylist insisted. “And…”

“Oh, _shut up_.” Haymitch spat, not in any mood to face that particular brand of patronizing lectures. They didn’t need to play at whom had known Effie the longest for him to be sure this wasn’t going to go down easily. “I never meant for this to make her feel _that_ bad.”

“Can someone explain?” Peeta frowned.

He shook his head. “He’s gonna explain.”

And with that he left the living-room. His first stop was the roof but it was empty so he went on to their bedroom, wincing when he found her lying on her stomach in the middle of their bed, her face buried in a pillow, her frame shaken by big sobs, her despair obvious.

Effie hardly _ever_ cried.

Or at least if she did, she never let him know.

“ _Go away!”_ she snapped when he sat down. She hadn’t looked up but he supposed she had felt the dip in the mattress. “I do _not_ want to see you. I do not want to _look_ at you. How could you? _How could you_?”

It might have been a more impressive rant if it hadn’t been so broken and heaved.

“Wasn’t supposed to be like this.” he mumbled, placing a hand between her shoulder blades. She shrugged it off once but when he rested it there once more she didn’t try that again. He gently rubbed her back. “Was supposed to be a surprise…”

“A surprise? _A surprise?”_ she screeched, sitting up and twisting around so she could face him. Her make-up was beyond repair. The smudged mascara made her look like a pink panda but he wisely did not tell her that. She glared at him. “This will be _mortifying_. There is still time to send for replacement suits for you and Peeta. But _me_? No suitable dress can be found and adjusted in such little time, not when I am supposed to take care of the talent show. I do not have anything with me that I haven’t already worn on the Tour because Mr Harwyn was _supposed_ to take care of tonight’s outfits and now… _Now_ what am I _supposed_ to do, Haymitch? Even if I dash home and come back with a dress… At worse it will be out of fashion because I haven’t gone shopping _in a whole month,_ at best it will be something I _already_ wore elsewhere and _that_ … You cannot go to that sort of events in a dress you already wore elsewhere! You _cannot_! What am I supposed to _do_?” It was impressive how she could rant so long without taking a breath. She did then, a deep long breath. Haymitch opened his mouth but before he could say anything, she was talking again, suddenly calmer. “ _Of course_. I _cannot_ go. I _won’t_. You will have to invent an excuse. Take Alys as your date. Tell them…”

“Over my dead body.” he scoffed. “You’re coming with me. I need you there. Can’t go back to that place without you.”

The mere thought of standing where the Cornucopia had been… Of _dancing_ where _Chaff_ had laid dead… No. Without her to hold his arm and squeeze his hand when he started to back out, there was no hope of him lasting the night there without going completely crazy. Not after spending the last month revisiting his latest arena.

“Well, you should have thought about it _before_ trying to publicly humiliate me.” she snapped. “I cannot go to _this_ party wearing a _nobody_ ’s dress. What am I supposed to answer when they ask me where I found that _ugly_ thing? _Oh, I did it myself?_ ”

“Yeah, actually.” he shrugged, a bit irritated. “Harwyn says your stuff is good. Why can’t you…”

“Because it is _not_!” she cut him off, raising her voice. It wasn’t often she lost her temper so much that she would scream like that. Lately, when they argued it was more in cutting attacks than in shouting matches. And…

“You’re scared.” he accused. It helped quell his annoyance a little. Even if the whole thing was ridiculous in his opinion, just as ridiculous as the pink wig sitting askew on her head. That someone could be so upset over _clothes_ … But clothes were her battle armor and Harwyn should have known better than messing with that.

“ _Of course_ , I am scared.” she huffed. She licked her lips and averted her eyes, hugging herself. “I know you have _much_ bigger problems and they have to come first right now, considering, but… After tomorrow a part of my life will be over and… The aftermath… Escorts are forgotten. They become _nothing_. And…”

“Sweetheart.” he said firmly. “You’re not _nothing.”_

“But I won’t be an escort anymore.” she retorted. “And I won’t be a model much longer either. Mother is right, I _am_ pushing it. And becoming the Head of Mr Harwyn’s house… It is an _amazing_ opportunity but it _won’t_ be the same. I won’t be in the spotlight as much and…”

“Not being in the spotlight isn’t _bad_.” he scoffed.

“For you.” she commented. “For me… It is the only way I know to exist.”

And it was sad. Very sad.

He sighed, trying to keep his irritation and impatience in check. Effie had her quirks and even though the whole thing seemed so trivial to him… It wasn’t to her.

She loved being loved, _worshipped_. It came down to that. Sure, she would remain famous – all the more so with him for a live-in companion – but it wouldn’t be the same. She wouldn’t be queen of the bees anymore. She would be… She would be like her mother and her sister. The former model, the former escort… Famous still, wealthy beyond measure, maybe an important sponsor – though he couldn’t see the Gamemakers allowing _that,_ given their relationship – but not… Not the _hit girl_ she used to be. Not the number one.

And that was without taking into account all the people who had died in the last year and how badly the Quell had shaken her up. They had been very focused on him and his own problems, his night terrors, his panic attacks, his grief and his guilt… He couldn’t really remember them going over her own feelings about the whole thing in depth.

He knew Effie. She would focus on the obvious: the loss of her job to avoid thinking about the rest too much. And, as a result, she would make a big deal out of it. Which meant she had probably been _silently_ agonizing over it for months.

“You’re having a life crisis behind my back, sweetheart?” he joked, tugging on her pink wig until it completely came loose.

She smiled but it was unsure and fleeting. “Perhaps.”

“Should have said.” he rebuked without much heat.

“You have your own worries and I do not want to add to them.” she whispered, looking down. “Your problems are bigger than mine, I know. But…”

“Effie.” he cut her off firmly, slowly combing his fingers in her blond hair. He wasn’t quite sure how to voice what he wanted to say but he knew for certain it _had_ to be said. If they wanted a chance at making this work in the long haul, it _had_ to. “We’re in this together, yeah? Means there’s no _bigger than mine, smaller than yours_ , alright? You’re not feeling well, you tell me. You’re getting scared, you tell me. We figure it out together.”

She glanced up at him, studied him for a second, and then she slowly crawled on his lap and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, feeling like an asshole for not _noticing_ it had been that bad… He should have.

She was so good at fooling everyone, at keeping up the cheerful happy pretence… He usually saw through that easily enough but lately… Well, he had spent the last six months focused on himself, couldn’t bring himself to _care_ for anything else.

“I just… I do not know what happens next.” she whispered. “It has been thirteen years and now it is over and… I am excited about the new job and our new house and… I _am_ excited but leaving all this behind is…”

“Huge.” he finished for her when her voice trailed off.

“Yes.” she admitted. “Stealing my designs… It was a _cruel_ joke.”

“Wasn’t a joke at all.” he sighed. “Look… Way I see it… You have a _chance_ here. You’re always sketching clothes, sweetheart, you’re always playing at dressing me or your friends up…” He had been forced to retreat to the kitchen often enough while she played dress-up in her walk-in closet with a gaggle of her friends, after all. He would know. They all listened to her, they all trusted her with their looks… And Effie loved that. She loved making them feel good about themselves – at least when she wasn’t trying to sabotage them. “That’s your thing, yeah? The thing you like most? You’ve got a shot at doing it for real. You go out there, you try, you knock them all dead.”

“You are asking me to take a _huge_ gamble, Haymitch.” she replied. “If I end up a _mockery_ …”

“Yeah, but what if you end up _a star_?” he countered before rolling his eyes. “ _When_ have you ever ended up a _mockery_? You’ve been my escort for more than a decade and _no one_ ever dragged you for your looks now, yeah?” He gave her a small shake to make his point and then propped his cheek against her forehead. “Being scared of doing something… It _ain’t_ you. Effie Trinket’s never been afraid of _anything_ in her life. She goes in and she _conquers_. No other possible option. Yeah?”

He understood why _this_ was so difficult for her though. She was always so arrogant it was hard sometimes to remember there were matters about which she was vulnerable. Her mother’s harsh opinions had made some damages here and there. Her natural looks were one. Her designs were another. He was sure there were more she was good at keeping from him still. 

“True.” she admitted. “ _I_ make the rules.” She chuckled slowly. “Why, I even managed to make jumpsuits fashionable. Perhaps I will make headscarves trendy again next.”

“That’s my girl.” he praised with a smirk, pressing a kiss on her forehead. Her skin tasted like powder, familiar but not quite pleasant. “We go and we kick their ass with your awesome outfits.”

“And if everyone claims I lost my mind and it is a total fiasco in tomorrow’s newspapers?” she asked.

“Tomorrow we’re gonna be in Twelve. No newspapers there.” he shrugged.

“Will you still love me if I am a failure of a stylist?” she insisted, a bit too uncertainly for his tastes. Sometimes, he really wanted to bash her mother’s head in with a very thick club. The idea that someone’s affection depended on whether or not the other person succeeded or failed…

But he remembered the beauty pageants trophies and other awards that occupied an entire shelf in their living-room. He remembered that there were a lot of runner-up and second place medals pushed at the back and it made him _wonder_ … He knew she had been doing pageants since she could walk and he also knew from comments here and there that her sister was usually the one taking the first place home. It made him wonder just how her mother had reacted to her not managing the same thing.

Probably not well. Probably making her feel like _less_ than she was. Probably implying she wasn’t a good daughter for letting her down. Probably withdrawing a love for which Effie was starved.

His only reaction was to scoff. “Princess, trust me, if you being an escort wasn’t the deal breaker, being a failed stylist won’t be enough to drive me away.” He rolled his eyes. “ _Not_ that you’re gonna fail.”

She breathed out slowly against his neck. “I don’t think anyone has ever loved me that much.”

It was murmured and probably not really meant for his ears.

He bumped his head against hers but didn’t offer an answer.

Because she might think that but he knew he could do _better_. He should have noticed she wasn’t doing well. He should have been paying more attention.

And from now on, he vowed he _would_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Effie was due a breakdown poor thing. ;)


	57. Be A Patriot

Her fake nails were digging into the back of his hand but Haymitch didn’t let go as the car started the short trip from the Center to the Mansion. He was nervous himself.

“I could still stay in the car.” she whispered nervously.

“It’s gonna be fine.” he said, for her benefit as well as his own. He had lived through a night at the Mansion once before, he could do it again. He glanced at her to see her swallow nervously and he squeezed her hand. “You’re gorgeous.”

So gorgeous his jaw had hit the floor when he had seen her. Although, to be fair, after two hours spent in Coralus and the rest of his prep team’s company, he had been more than ready to be impressed by what she was wearing just to make the annoying Capitols disappear. The suit they had put on him had a different cut than what he usually wore and it would probably take some getting used to. The pants were tighter and _flattering,_ as Coralus had helpfully pointed out while staring at his ass – at least, it wasn’t gunnysack. The waistcoat was a bit too flashy for his taste with its red embroideries but it _was_ a big event and he had understood the color when Effie had appeared to make sure the red bowtie around his neck was suitably knotted.

The dress was… It was red and _daring_. A flexible silver metallic snake coiled around her body all the way from her right calf to her neck, its delicately chiseled head with its ruby eyes nestled below the hollow of her throat, its triangular shape pointing down at her cleavage… And from the metal snake hung the veil-like fabric. It moved when she moved and teasingly flashed skin here and there…

And, to be honest, Haymitch had almost stomped his foot and refused to let her out in that because…

It was only once she had demonstrated that the dress would keep her decent _for certain_ that he had stopped grumbling only to complain that she was going to give him a hard-on and that the pants weren’t made to hide that at all. He was sure she had chosen the black wig with the silver adornments on purpose because she knew he _liked_ dark wigs. Half of it was braided back while the other side was twisted in a puffy bun on her neck…

She looked like a goddess, to be honest, and he really wanted to have his way with her in that dress. He was sure if he lifted the right veils and found the right places to rip off the fabric, he wouldn’t even have to take it off her.

He had never been fond of snakes but the dress reconciled him with them.

The car came to a stop and she took a deep breath, forcing her fake smile on her lips. “Here goes nothing.”

The door opened before he could offer any more reassurances. He climbed out first, waved at the screaming crowd and then outstretched a hand to Effie. She took a second longer than usual to grab it but then she appeared and the crowd went even wilder. She stood _that_ little bit straighter, her chin _that_ little bit higher and her smile _that_ little bit brighter. He almost rolled his eyes at the sudden reappearance of her confidence.

They dutifully made the rounds on the red carpet, almost catching up with Peeta who had been held back by a group of hysteric teenagers who appeared to want a dozen pictures each. The boy was clearly trying to get out of that tricky trap. Haymitch only looked away when it became clear a Peacekeeper tasked with security was discreetly but resolutely making his way over to the younger victor.

There were so many flashes, so many people calling his and Effie’s name that his head was spinning. He smiled, signed and touched hands on autopilot, never letting his escort wander too far from him.

When they finally reached the corner with all the cameras, it was almost a relief.

The journalist Effie directed them to asked a few expected questions about the Tour, then about the two of them – even though asking if they were still going strong was a bit redundant in his opinion given that they had been holding hands ever since they had gotten out of the car – and finally gushed over their outfits.

“Are they Faun Harwyn’s exclusives?” the woman almost _squealed_. “Effie, your dress is to _die for_.”

Haymitch didn’t really claim to understand how the fashion world worked. As far as he bothered to get it: the outfits they had been wearing on the Tour – unlike those they had worn at the interviews – weren’t actually _Harwyn’s_ but belonged to the main stylist who worked for his fashion house – which still made it his _brand_ but not his _work_. Actual pieces designed by him were now rare and invaluable and it was what Effie had been expecting to wear that night.

“Actually…” Effie hesitated only for a second. Then she flashed the woman that smile that had brought many people to their knees. “It is mine.”

The journalist blinked, stunned for a second before catching up. Her eyes grew wide in realization of what a scoop she was getting. “Yours? You mean to say you _designed_ this dress?”

“This dress as well as Haymitch’s and Peeta’s suits, yes.” she grinned proudly, trailing a proprietary hand down Haymitch’s arm that, he felt, had less to do with the outfit than _him_.

“They’re _amazing_!” the woman offered, her voice rising in her excitement. “Does that mean you are going to replace Gerret Almin as the _Head Stylist_ of Faun Harwyn’s house instead of becoming Head of the management as had been rumored?”

Effie licked her lips and winked at the camera. “Now… That would be telling, Daphne. If you will excuse us, I _do_ believe we should try not to make _such_ a late entrance as last time…”

They managed their escape and entered the Mansion with a sigh of relief at being freed from cameras for the time being.

“Went well.” he triumphed smugly.

“Yes, yes…” she muttered. “You are allowed to tell me you told me so if you insist.”

“Told you so.” he smirked.

She pursed her lips and flashed him an annoyed look but it soon faded into sparkling eyes and a genuine smile. She wrapped both arms around his elbow and ushered him past the stairs to the ballroom.

Their expected and awaited entrance prompted the always long and boring Presidential speech that was traditionally concluded by the suggestion that the new victor opened the ball. Haymitch dragged Effie on the dance floor before anyone could suggest he took another partner.

“So not proper…” Effie teased as they waltzed around, soon joined by other couples.

He might have been holding her a little closer than propriety dictated but he didn’t care. It was either focusing on how much he liked having her in his arms or thinking about the fact they were dancing right where Chaff… He resolutely chased the thought from his mind.

The thing with those parties was that they were almost always the same. He had attended enough of them to be able to play his part without much concentration. He talked to a few influent sponsors, doing his best not to let his loathing show, and he let Peeta borrow Effie for a dance or two. He was forced into a few dances with a couple of sponsors himself and bore the grabby hands as well as he could.

He didn’t eat much, only what Effie forced into his hands, and he drank even less. A few virgin cocktails that did nothing for his parched mouth.

A couple of victors had been dragged to the city for the event and he was chatting with Lyme – covertly trying to figure out what _she_ knew about Thirteen – letting his eyes wander around the room to check on Effie or Peeta as usual, when he spotted his escort a little apart from the crowd with President Snow.

She was smiling but it was obvious to him she was tense.

He had crossed the room before he had realized it, abandoning Two’s victor mid-sentence. He tried not to rush, he tried not to be too obviously panicked, he tried to… Given the amusement on the President’s face when he came to a stop next to Effie and wrapped an arm around her waist in a possessive gesture that was just a covert way of pushing her a little behind him, he had _failed_.

“Ah, Haymitch…” Snow said in that falsely pleasant tone of his. “I was _just_ congratulating Miss Trinket on a particularly successful Tour. Head Gamemaker Heavensbee tells me the ratings have never been so good.”

Clenching his jaw to keep his temper in check, he tightened his hold on Effie’s waist. “Glad to hear that.”

“I am sure.” the President commented in a slightly mocking voice. “You two have become _quite_ the power couple, it seems. You are the darlings of the Capitol and an inspiration to the rest of Panem.”

Haymitch wasn’t quite sure if that was a threat or not. He reached for Effie’s flute but she placed it out of his reach with a small frown.

“It’s champagne.” she told him quietly. “I will fetch you another fruit cocktail if you wish.”

It was humiliating to have his sobriety discussed in front of the man he hated most in the world but the perspective of getting her _away_ from said man was too good to pass. “Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart.”

She hesitated and then squeezed the hand on her waist before escaping his hold to make her way to the bar. Snow stood there, unperturbed, watching him. Suddenly, he remembered why he didn’t like snakes. _He_ was the _embodiment_ of one.

“I did everything you asked.” he said in a low voice. He wasn’t a fool. There was no reason for Snow to get Effie alone except to rile him up, to issue some sort of warning or a reminder or… “You can’t take her away.”

“Oh, you will find I _can_ take her away.” Snow chuckled, inspecting his own glass with obvious boredom. “I am simply not inclined to for the time being. She has a certain gift for keeping you in line.” He swallowed hard in relief but the President wasn’t done. “As I said, seeing their champion fall in love with the very thing they all claim to hate has been very good for the Districts. There has never been any reason you and I had to be enemies, Haymitch. I sincerely believe you could be very useful to our government if you applied your mind to it.”

_No reason to be enemies…_

“You killed my family.” he growled, his voice raising a little despite his better judgment. “ _Twice_.”

If people heard, they quickly looked away, pretended they hadn’t and talked louder to cover the noise. Snow looked unperturbed.

“And now I am sparing what is left of it.” the President pointed out. “I thought you understood why it was necessary, Haymitch. After all, you _learned your lesson_ , didn’t you?”

He was seething with fury.

It would have been easy, _so easy_ , to snatch the glass from the man’s hand, smash it and use the shattered piece to slit his throat. He was fairly sure he would have managed it before the Peacekeepers positioned at every corner of the room could move.

His intentions must have been plainly written on his face because Snow’s lips twitched into a cruel smile.

“Love is a strange thing, isn’t it?” Snow declared almost fondly. “It makes you dance to its tune, kneel at your enemy’s feet, pledge your loyalty to them… Strange thing.” The President toasted him. “You may want to kill me where I stand but you will not touch me. You will not risk her, you love her too much.”

“You’re so sure of yourself?” he spat.

“Your weaknesses are there for everyone to see, almost disappointing in their banality.” the President dismissed. “Or perhaps you need a reminder of that lesson you claimed to have learned with such… _eloquence_. Perhaps time has already played tricks on your memories.”

“No.” he denied quickly. “ _No_. I’m sorry.”

The apology tasted like ashes.

“That’s better.” Snow approved. “Now that this is out of the way… I have an offer for you.”

“An offer.” he repeated flatly, watching Effie make her way to them through the crowd. A Gamemaker quickly placed himself on her path and engaged her in conversation. She kept tossing him worried glances over the man’s shoulder but Haymitch gave her a tiny shake of the head. Clearly, instructions had been given so that he and the President wouldn’t be interrupted. “What kind of offer?”

He very much doubted it was one that he could refuse either way.

“You have a sound mind, Haymitch, and I have it on good authority that if your little folly had managed to blossom into an actual thing you would have operated as their main strategist.” Snow hummed. “As it turns out, we are in need of a good strategist ourselves. A few… cells are still operating in a couple of Districts and, despite our best attempts, we have been unable to… flush them out.”

Haymitch could swear he was tasting bile. “You want me to help you capture rebels.”

“I want you to help us capture _terrorists_.” Snow countered. “At the very least, I want you to look over the information we have and give your best attempt at doing that. I would not take kindly to failure but, as I understand it, they are very elusive. You are fond of the young Miss Everdeen, aren’t you? It would be a _shame_ if one of those terrorists…”

“I get the drift.” he cut him off. He ran a hand over his face, conflicted on more than one account. Eventually, he snorted. “You’re making me a traitor. Smart.”

It was another way to ensure he could never, _would_ never go back to the rebels.

“I am giving you the chance to be a patriot.” the President corrected. “You would not be the first victor whose skills we put to good use. Naturally, you will receive compensation for your time. And we would make sure your relationship with Miss Trinket remained… Shall we say _exclusive_?”

He abruptly met the President’s eyes at that.

He was no Finnick Odair but there were always people interested in buying themselves a victor. And with him being in the city all year long… Not having to do _that…_ Not having to do that anymore would be great.

But the price…

Except it wasn’t like he had a choice anyway, was it? Not if Effie’s life was on the line. Not if _Prim_ was at risk.

It would have been easier if it had been people from Thirteen. _They_ were traitors. They were the reason why… But it wouldn’t be, would it? There would be no way to appease his conscience, no way to…

“Alright.” he heard himself say. Because there was _no_ choice. Snow had him by the balls.

“Very good.” the President praised, in the same tone one would encourage a dog who had managed a trick. “Plutarch will get in touch in a few days.”

And with that he was gone.

Haymitch watched him walk to another group of people, barely realizing Effie was at his side once more, the fruit cocktail forgotten in her hand.

“What was that about?” she urged, her free fingers coiling around his wrist right above the bangle. “What did he want?”

“Later.” he spat, tearing his arm out of her grip and storming away.

From that point on, the night that had already been a chore became a pure torture. He withdrew into himself, barely acknowledged anyone, kept away from the bar only because Peeta never seemed to go very far from it - obviously in hopes of keeping him from drinking…

When Effie declared it was time for them to dash to the train, he was the first out the door.

The silence in the car that brought them to the station could have been cut with a knife. Peeta and Effie kept exchanging worried looks, Harwyn sported a small puzzled frown… Several times the stylist tried to start a conversation about how popular Effie’s designs had been but she only answered with the bare minimum not to appear rude and Peeta’s single congratulation attempt sounded tense.

The moment they boarded the train, Haymitch stormed to their room, discarding bowtie and clothes on the way there. He was in the shower before he even realized it was his intention and only let out the breath he had been holding when the scalding water poured over him. He started scrubbing his hands, trying to wash blood that he _knew_ wasn’t there.

But he could see it.

He could _see_ it.

Except he knew it was in his head.

Arms sneaked around his waist.

“Haymitch.” Effie whispered softly between his shoulder blades. He wasn’t sure how long had passed. She was naked, he could feel her skin plastered against his. No wig either, probably no make-up. Her fingers gently plucked the bar of soap from his hand and then her thumb ran over his knuckles. There was blood there now. Real blood. His blood. He had managed to rub himself raw. “What does President Snow want?”

He laughed.

He laughed hard and long and eventually it broke into something that was far from a laugh.

“My soul.” he snorted. “Sold it to him for your life anyway, right? It was only a matter of time before he came and cashed in.” She pressed harder against his back, her hand blindly fumbling with the control panel. The water’s temperature cooled a little. He shook his head. “The _fuck_ did I do surviving this? The _fuck_ did I do? Should have let Cashmere do me. Should have let Chaff win. Should have…”

“What does he want you to do?” she insisted. “ _Talk_ to me.”

He didn’t want to tell her. Because if she knew… How could she know and still love him the same? The arena… Killing in the arena was bad but it was self-defense, preservation, survival instinct kicking in… _This…_ He would help the Capitol kill people who were fighting for their freedom, for something _Haymitch_ believed in, for something _he_ should have been doing, _would_ have been doing if Thirteen hadn’t…

He turned around and crushed his mouth against hers _hard_. His hands wandered over her, rough and not really careful.

“I need you.” he mumbled against her lips, not quite a request as much as a warning.

Her fingers coiled around him and they were so warm, so good at giving him _exactly_ what he wanted… He had her up against the glass partition wall before he even had time to think. He thrusted inside her without checking if she was ready first. He didn’t do much to make sure she was enjoying it. But she never said no, she never pushed him away. She welcomed him instead.

Even when he pounded into her so hard the glass kept rattling and it was so slippery from all the soap he had used that it became reckless to do it like that in there. Her nails were scratching the back of his nape, her fingers were digging into his right shoulder, she was whispering filthy things into his ear…

He lost himself in her because it was the only possible course of action at that moment, because if he _didn’t_ lose himself in her then he would lose himself in _him_ and that wasn’t a pleasant place to be.

She didn’t come but it wasn’t that surprising. It was probably a good thing actually because when his climax grabbed him, it was her who prevented them from falling and breaking something - their own neck or the shower, that was anyone’s guess.

Still, once they were both steady and upright, with him still crushing her body against the glass, panting hard in her neck… _Everything_ came back and _nothing_ was better.

His face crumpled in pain, he bowed his head until his forehead was resting against her shoulder, letting her wrap her arms around his shaking frame.

Why was it every time he managed to put himself back together something happened to make him fall apart?

“Tell me, darling.” she requested gently, dropping kisses against his neck.

He did.

Because she had a right to know what sort of man she was living with.

He wasn’t exactly expecting the hard kiss on the mouth but maybe he should have. She had a gift for doing that. _Surprising him_.

“You have to do it.” she stated firmly for both of their sakes probably. “You do _not_ have a choice, here, Haymitch. We have to protect our children.”

And they had done a _splendid_ job of that so far, hadn’t they?

“Prim’s our kid too now?” he snorted without humor. It wasn’t really a question though. He liked the girl. He had liked her ever since Katniss had introduced them. And the girl was now Peeta’s surrogate sister.

Really, the point was moot.

And she was right.

“Family first. Always.” she reminded him, looking sad but determined.

“Whatever the cost.” he agreed.

_He_ would be the one paying it anyway.

“It does not make you a bad man.” she whispered, as if she could read his thoughts.

“Oh, I think it _does_ , sweetheart…” he mocked, bumping his forehead against her shoulder _hard_. “I _really_ think it does. I’m gonna get those people killed. They’re someone’s family. They’re…” He closed his eyes hard. “Innocent people are gonna get hurt in the crossfire. Always do.”

“They were foolish enough to get involved in this.” she reminded him.

“So was I.” he snapped. “It could be _me_. It could…”

“Haymitch.” she cut him off firmly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Stop staying that like it makes _fucking_ sense.” he spat. “I’m the one holding the knife. I’m…”

“No, you are _not_.” she countered. “Do what President Snow wants but… Perhaps they will escape. Perhaps… Perhaps you can do _just_ enough to convince them you are on their side… Perhaps… Perhaps you do not have to _excel_.”

“Can’t risk Prim.” he muttered. “Can’t risk you.”

She let her head fall against his and breathed out slowly. “It will only be this once…”

“Yeah, sure.” he scoffed.

It wouldn’t be just this once.

There would be something else that would necessitate his expertise.

And something else.

And something else.

And it would never stop.

They both knew that.

She _must_ have known that.

“I love you.” she offered, as if hoping it would be enough.

He hoped too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there any end to my cruelty, you ask? Maybe, I answer.   
> We're nearing the end of the story! Let me know your thoughts!


	58. Sometimes You Are

“The maid told me you were back. I did not hear the car.” Effie announced, walking in the library like she owned the place.

Well… She _did_ , he supposed.

Haymitch barely glanced up from the window. He could see the pen full of geese from that window and he liked watching the birds. She had gifted them to him a few days after they had moved to the country house and he found them… _peaceful_.

More peaceful than being forced to deal with maids and domestics.

The house was too big for it to be otherwise.

He liked it when it came down to it. It was a small estate but an estate nonetheless, with a huge meticulously designed topiary garden, a gazebo, tortuous paths that slithered around what passed as woods in that part of the country… The house itself would have been better called a mansion. The library with its hidden passage in the wall that ended up next to the woods was his favorite room – mainly because it was _full_ of books he hadn’t read and because nobody disturbed him in there. There was an interior pool downstairs, a couple of living-rooms, a big dining-room, something that Effie refused to call a ballroom and far too many bedrooms.

He understood why they needed the staff but he resented the invasion on his privacy.

He would have liked to be able to come and go from his house without anyone tattling to her.

“They dropped me off at the gates.” he mumbled. “Walked back from there.”

Being half an hour away from the city was a blessing. Sometimes, he didn’t hear about the Capitol for a few days and… He could even _forget_. This place was certainly not Twelve. It was neutral ground. And it was good.

“I thought you might stay in the city tonight.” she ventured, hesitant.

He turned to study her, finally. Her blond hair was tied in a low ponytail and she was wearing a simple enough dress that told him she didn’t expect a visit or wasn’t planning on going out. He had been scared she would put on airs all the time with staff around but that was a compromise they had been forced to reach: as few people working there as possible, invisible ones, and it couldn’t affect the way she acted because… Well, the side of her he loved most was the side he was the only one allowed to see. He hadn’t married _Euphemia Trinket_ , he had married _Effie_.

She looked uncertain but, then again, he was aware that he was guarded and hostile. He had been for a while now. Ever since Plutarch Heavensbee had showed up uninvited about two weeks after the Tour, when they had barely been done settling in their new home, and had asked him to follow him back to the Presidential Mansion for a special project.

The special project that had involved two former rebels leading the witch hunt on what was left of them…

The work was challenging, it was the thing. And he had always loved a good challenge, which only made him even more disgusted with himself. So for two months now, he had been helping the government bury what was left of the rebellion deep into the ground.

And he had found more new reasons to avoid his face in the mirror every morning.

He hadn’t been dealing with all that stuff very well, no surprise there. And the house was so big that he sometimes thought he and Effie would lose each other in it if they weren’t careful.

“It’s over.” he said flatly.

She frowned and hurried closer, outstretching a hand that she dropped halfway there. “You found them all?”

He swallowed hard and rested his forehead against the cold glass of the window, staring down below at the white dots the geese formed.

“We got Paylor this morning.” he told her. She had been the most elusive, the last real danger, the last possible spark of a rebellion. Eight’s rebel cell had been the hardest to crush. He had spent days studying her file – and unsurprisingly the Capitol was good at keeping detailed files on possible threats – and even longer designing the perfect trap for the woman to fall in. “It’s over.”

Effie sighed in relief when she snuggled against his side but he wasn’t sure what she was relieved about. That they were in the clear? That he was done hunting down people that would only be put down like dogs once captured? That he was done disappearing for days in a government building often without means of contacting her other than a short phone call to warn her he wouldn’t be back that night?

“How are you?” she asked softly.

He closed his eyes even as he wrapped an arm around her waist in reflex, bringing her closer. How was he? It was a good question. One he didn’t have a clue how to answer.

“She was a good woman, I think.” he said quietly. “And now she’s dead ‘cause _I_ …”

“You kept the children alive. You kept me alive.” she cut him off. “You didn’t have a choice, Haymitch. You _have_ to remember. _You didn’t have a choice._ ”

That was a lie and not a lie at the same time.

He could have chosen the difficult path and made a stand even if it had cost him… _everything_. He could have refused to be a puppet, a dog who ran when he heard the whistle…. He could have…

No…

He _couldn’t_ have.

He wrapped his second arm around her waist and brought her even closer, burying his nose in her hair and breathing in the comforting smell of her shampoo.

It was a paradox because, yes, there had been a choice to be made and he had made it… But at the same time, he could never have chosen differently.

“Funny, you know…” he snorted without any amusement. “I remember telling Katniss to play the game whatever shape it takes… I remember telling her to do it even if it made her skin crawl… I told her she should do everything she could to keep her people alive…” He shrugged. “Never thought it would be like _this_.”

He had never pictured himself living in that kind of houses, that kind of life, working for _Snow_ on the side. It wasn’t what he wanted for himself. Not at all.

And Effie knew that very well.

The mansion was too big for them. It always came down to that.

He liked the house. It was old and authentic in a way Capitols couldn’t build despite the pool downstairs and all the latest technological appliances. He liked the house but it was too big and they were both too lost in their new lives.

He hadn’t been the only busy one. Effie was working her ass off for her new collection. She was always making trips back and forth to the city or inviting people over to talk about clothes, fabrics and _targets_. He had grown used to stylists, models and various people staying over for dinner or spending the afternoon locked in the room she had turned into her home workshop. Sometimes he humored her by joining them for a few minutes, more often he kept his distance from that part of her life.

Her collection would be ready for the spring fashion week, he had no doubts about her success – although why they called that a _spring fashion week_ when all the clothes seemed to be winter related was puzzling to him – but Effie was frantic about deadlines, schedules and possible delays. She was all over the place but she also was in high spirits, thriving in her new job, happy in her new role.

She laughed and beamed and could talk his ear off about her day every night. He wasn’t very interested in what she did for a living but he liked watching her when she was that animated. He liked seeing her happy.

“It will settle.” she promised soothingly. “Everything will fall into place eventually.”

“Yeah…” he lied.

He was a little scared she was right. He would get used to this life, _make do_ with it. He would get used to her ridiculous colleagues, employees and friends coming over. He would get used to the parties she would insist on throwing – the housewarming party alone had been such a smash it had warranted the front page of ten gossip magazines. He would get used to hiding in the library or in the garden when he got tired of their guests – and it was the good thing with having such a big house, he figured, he wasn’t forced to be in contact with anyone she brought over if he didn’t want to. He would get used to opulence. He would…

He would soon forget what it was like to feel the biting cold when electricity gave in because Twelve’s generators were unreliable and there was no more heating or when they ran out of things to burn in the fireplace. He would soon forget what it felt like to go hungry. He would soon forget the fear of spotting a squad of Peacekeepers at the end of the street. He would soon forget about the coal dust thick in the air that made you cough with every breath. He would…

Her lips crashed on his, hard and demanding, and he opened his mouth for her, letting her push him against the wall. A few buttons flew without him being able to tell if it was his shirt or her dress that had suffered the damage. Not that it mattered.

He had killed a woman that day, a good woman, maybe not with his hands but the logistics didn’t really count in his opinion.

He had killed too many people as it was.

And he was settling for a life he had never thought was meant for him.

Her fingers traveled all over his chest, lingering on scars, her tongue was battling with his in a fight for a control he was reluctant to hand over. Her hand tangled in his hair, tugged his head back forcefully and he could only groan when she sank her teeth in his offered throat.

It sent a chill through his body. His blood ran south.

It was the last straw though.

She yelped when he pushed her back. Confusion flashed on her face but it soon disappeared when he shoved her against the closest bookshelf and tore the dress off her with no regard whatsoever for the fact she might have wanted to keep it in one piece.

“Haymitch…” she breathed out when he squeezed her breast.

He swallowed her whimper with a kiss when he twisted her nipple.

Their remaining clothes flew off, hands roamed over naked skin… He had his fingers deep inside her and she was threatening to fall apart when he spotted the leather armchair a few feet away. He grabbed her under the thighs and while she whined at being suddenly empty she locked her legs around his waist without needing any prompting from him.

She seemed a little surprised when he carried her away from the bookshelf but when he sank in the armchair, she adjusted quickly, slipping her legs through the holes under the armrests, guiding him into her swiftly.

They paused for a moment, chests pressed tight together, cheek to cheek, as close as was humanly possible. Her breathing was short and he could feel her every exhale against his ear. His hands were spread at the small of her back, his golden bangle probably digging into her skin.

“I love you.” she mumbled.

“Then, move.” he muttered right back, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against her shoulder.

She chuckled. “Always the romantic.”

He snorted and opened his mouth, intending to get the last word, _always_ intending to get the last word, but the retort died on his tongue when she actually started to rock her hips. It was slow and controlled, it had to be given their position, and it left his mind a blank slate.

Truth be told, it was a relief.

There was no room in his head for anything that wasn’t her warmth cradling him, the slippery feel of their sweaty skins rubbing together, the taste of her strawberry lipstick, the small gasps that left her mouth in the middle of a kiss and the slight pain of her fingers accidentally tugging on his hair.

She kept that slow torturous pace as long as she could but it turned a little frantic eventually and he slipped his hand between their bodies without thinking twice about it, instinctively tightening the arm wrapped around her back so she wouldn’t fall. Watching her come apart was the best sight he had ever seen and, if given a choice, it was the last thing he wanted to see before he died.

It took her a couple of minutes to recover and start moving again but between her clenching and her dazed fucked-out-of-her-brains look, it didn’t take him half as long to come. His head dropped back, mouth half open in what must have been her name, blood rushed in his ears…

For a glorious moment, all he could hear was the beating of his heart.

Neither of them talked for a long time after that. They remained where they were, flushed tight against each other, her cheek resting on his shoulder, his arms holding her secure…

“You make me feel alive.” he confessed in something that was barely more than a murmur.

It wasn’t a secret. Not really. She knew him too well not to know how _dead_ he felt most days.

“You make me feel important.” she whispered after a second of consideration. “As if I were your whole world.”

“Sometimes you are.” he shrugged.

Her hand cupped his cheek, nudged his head in her direction… She kissed him as if he was oxygen, as if she needed him to survive…

And maybe that was it.

Maybe it was just _that_ simple.

They were two fucked-up people who had done ugly things – him more than her – but they were also survivors who needed each other to _make it through._ And because they were aware of that, because they were aware the other needed them to keep breathing, they would survive whatever the cost.

Because they loved the other too much to risk them giving up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to say it... This story will end in two (long) chapters... Bear with me a little longer! And tell me your thoughts!


	59. The End Of An Era

Effie’s first fashion show was an immediate hit.

Haymitch sat in the first row and watched model after model strut down that catwalk, bored out of his mind and barely listening to Harwyn’s approving comments next to him. He had no idea what half the stylist said meant and he wasn’t particularly interested either.

He sat and watched the different designs he had seen several variations of invading the apartment during the last few days – because Effie was nothing if a work-alcoholic and had momentarily moved back to her city apartment for the few weeks before the show and Haymitch had followed after only a few days without her, disturbed by the strange loneliness he wasn’t accustomed to anymore.

By the time the last model walked down the aisle, wearing a wedding dress full of round angles and delicately crafted pink roses, everyone was standing and clapping. He hadn’t known wedding dresses traditionally finished the show and thus he was a second late in joining the applause but he didn’t refrain from letting out a whistle when Effie appeared from between the heavy velvet curtains and walked out from backstage with a compelling flush and a genuinely pleased smile.

She was radiant in her green dress and red wig. She was wearing the sapphire necklace and earrings he had offered her too – for good luck, she had said earlier – and when she took a small bow, applauses only increased. He saw her blue eyes darting to the empty chair next to her sister – a chair that had been reserved for her mother – and disappointment briefly flashed on her face. She soon plastered a bright grin on her lips though because cameras were rolling.

Her gaze settled on him next and he knew she was dying to jump in his arms, to share the moment with him, but he discreetly shook his head, smirking at her. This was supposed to be _her_ moment and if they were photographed together, it would be all about _them_.

She was so over the moon he didn’t even resist her attempts at dragging him to the after-show party. She drank too much and was completely wasted by the end of the night. He was uncomfortable being the sober one but he figured she had earned a night to cut loose because she had worked herself raw for that fashion show.

She was all over him well before he had carried her back to her apartment, giggling into his neck all about how her life was _perfect_ and she was _so happy_ and how much she loved him… He felt a tinge of resentment but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because, while he was happy with her, his own life was far from perfect.

It was her night and he humored her though.

He even fetched different newspapers for her the next morning when she was too busy lying on the couch with a headache the size of District Seven.

“Read the columns for me.” she begged, curling up against the back of the couch, her glass of orange juice clutched to her chest like a shield. “I am too scared.”

He wasn’t sure what she was scared about because everyone had been pretty much unanimous the previous night about how well the whole show had gone but he cleared his throat and read all the same. Four out of seven newspapers were calling her the next Faun Harwyn, one was calling her innovative but not exceptional, another was more interested in her relationship with _him_ and the last one had hated it all.

“Five good reviews out of seven are pretty good.” he told her when he saw her pout. “Can’t make _everyone_ love you, sweetheart.”

It was very obvious to him it was a success.

Even if she kept second-guessing.

It was only when her assistant called with a summary of how many orders and requests for exclusive designs they had signed the previous night that she let herself believe she had _really_ made it.

She wasn’t Twelve’s escort anymore, she was a recognized stylist.

He figured it helped made the transition a little smoother.

Still, when the day came to officially pass the title along, she was in a weird mood. Haymitch was all against attending the show but nobody asked his opinion on the matter. He was the Quell’s victor and he was in the city so he _would_ have to attend – besides, Effie remarked, it would have looked odd if he hadn’t come to support her. So he was forced to get through a red carpet and sit in the middle of the audience and watch the ridiculous hypocrisy on stage.

They never had shows for departing or arriving escorts. They were usually announced a little before the next Reaping with fuss and pump but not with an official Games program to boost. That year, it was going to be a complete turnover though. No escort was staying in their position, either they had been promoted or they had declared they would retire – or had been _forced_ to retire but none of them were stupid enough to say that out loud.

There was a short recap for every leaving escort, from their first Reaping to their last, quite a few anecdotes from Caesar and a lot of forced laughter on everyone’s part.

In Haymitch’s opinion, it was depressing.

He wasn’t friends with a lot of escorts, not to say the only one he really liked was Effie, but they were familiar faces. All the young people they called on stage to replace them had one thing in common: they all looked far too naïve. Most of them were current celebrities: singers, models, actresses…

Haymitch had to look away when Effie shook Alys’ hand and officially passed Twelve’s escort title over. Of course, then the camera panned on him and he forced a smirk and a wave but he didn’t think he managed to hide his bitterness very well.

It felt like the end of an era.

It was a relief to sneak backstage once the show was over. The mood was subdued. The former escorts were laughing together, trying to keep their spirits up but it was plain to see most of them were worn out. It had been that way since the Quell.

He found Effie chatting with Two’s former escort, the both of them sporting strained smiles and polite masks of indifference. He placed a hand at the small of her back to alert her to his presence, nodding once at Valeria. He was uncomfortable with her. Knowing that Brutus had been to her what he was to Effie made it awkward. When he looked at her, he saw who Effie could have been if he had died in the Quell and…

_Not going there_.

There was a party they couldn’t get out of, naturally, which meant another red carpet he could have done without. It was easier to bear when Effie’s hand was squeezing his but he hated the whole theatrics of _being seen_. He wasn’t in a good mood. He made an effort not to be too curt with fans because offending anyone wasn’t an option for him anymore but he wasn’t in a good mood.

There was no escaping the press. They were like bloodhounds, avid for the smallest gossip and ready to transform the most innocent sentence into something _scandalous_. He let Effie deal with them. She answered questions with her usual charm, cheerfully expressing her excitement for the next Games…

“And you, Haymitch? Are you excited?” the man asked, jutting his mic so close to Haymitch’s face he almost hit him in the nose.

He nudged it away with a snort. “What do you think?”

“It will be less stressful than last time.” Effie joked, looping her arm around his and very much digging her nails into his forearm. “Won’t it, darling?”

She batted innocent loving eyes at him but he read the warning in her gaze as clearly as if she had uttered it. He wasn’t the grumpy bitter victor anymore and he couldn’t afford that kind of mishap. Not with Effie’s, Peeta’s and Prim’s lives on the line. Not with all he had already done to prevent anything happening to them.

He forced himself to relax, a smirk stretching his lips. “Sure. No one’s coming at _me_ this time around.”

They all laughed as if it was a good joke. Haymitch was already glancing at the doors of the grand hotel the party was taking place in, desperate for an escape, but the journalist clearly wasn’t done with them. “Do you think it will be weird for you to work with another escort? Effie has been with Twelve for a long time…”

“We shall _not_ give numbers.” she teased.

“It’s gonna be an adjustment, yeah.” he nodded. The man seemed to expect something more so Haymitch shrugged. “I’m really proud of her, you know? She’s been the best escort and now she’s moving on to being the best stylist… That’s my girl. The overachiever.” 

He nudged her and she shook her head at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “You are ridiculous.”

“You love it.” he accused.

“Perhaps I do.” she grinned.

He could almost hear people _awing_ at them and he lifted an inquisitive eyebrow in the journalist’s direction. The man took the hint and thanked them for their time before hurrying to Three’s new escort.

“Are you really?” Effie hummed as they _finally_ joined the party that was now in full swing. “Proud of me?”

“I’m only charming for the cameras, Princess.” he deadpanned.

She chuckled and dragged him to the dance floor. There were worse fates than dancing with her so he surrendered.

If one good thing had come out of the whole mess, it was being free not to hide anymore, not to calculate every move in fear of being discovered. He liked being able to hold her closer than propriety allowed, to whisper in her ear if he wanted to, to keep his hands on her at all times… Over all, he liked being perfectly entitled to growl possessively at sponsors and leering old men who thought they could take her for a spin.

The fact that his acting all possessive turned her on was a nice bonus.

It _was_ the end of an era though.

On the eve of the following Reaping, he and Alys boarded a train to Twelve. It felt so… _odd_ to leave Effie on the Capitol’s platform… She seemed equally at a loss. She kissed him hard one last time – even if they hadn’t really stopped kissing since that morning – and tugged on the lapels of his coat so they would fall properly before smoothing imaginary creases from the fabric.

“It is only two nights. We are being _utterly_ silly.” she declared with a laugh that sounded painfully fake.

“Try pathetic.” he mocked and kissed her again. He didn’t let himself look back before climbing on the train. It _was_ ridiculous. But they didn’t often spend nights apart anymore and never so far away from each other.

He shared a boring dinner with Alys who kept up the chatter just to keep the silence at bay, it seemed. She reminded him a little too much of Effie when she had first started and he tended to tune her out. He and Effie had already decided she would spend the duration of the Games in the apartment instead of making the half hour trip from and to their house every day. At least until Twelve was out of the Games. Then he would be free to move out of the penthouse. She had talked about inviting Peeta over for a few days but he wasn’t sure about that yet. They had agreed it would depend on how the Games went.

Useless to say, they went _badly_.

It was good to see the boy again. It had only been a few months but Peeta looked even more grown up than he had before the Tour. Things in Twelve _really_ weren’t great, the kid told him before the whole thing started, and more often than not he was left to play buffer between the Mayor and the Head Peacekeeper. Haymitch felt guilty about not being there but one look at Thread told him it was probably for the best. Effie humiliating him hadn’t made the man any more partial to him than he used to be.

Alys reaped a fourteen year old girl and a sixteen year old boy.

The girl sobbed from the moment her name was called to the moment the train stopped in the Capitol, the boy had no fight in him, Peeta was too invested mainly because he knew the male tribute from school and their new escort was useless. Effie having left her position, there was alcohol on the train again and Haymitch was thoroughly tempted to get wasted.

He chain-smoked his whole cigarette packet instead.

The Parade was a disaster. Their new stylist hadn’t been stupid enough to leave them on a cart half naked – and wasn’t _that_ a fond memory, Haymitch mused – but the miner outfits were too classical and boring. Overdone. The kids didn’t pique anyone’s interest.

“We have a shot.” Peeta kept insisting even though it was as far from the truth as possible.

These were his twenty-sixth Games and Haymitch could see it plain as day: those kids would never make it past the Cornucopia.

He had forgotten how it had been before Effie. Alys showed the kids to their rooms, made sure they knew how everything worked and then disappeared from the penthouse, probably to a post Parade party or another.

“Isn’t she supposed to help?” Peeta frowned once the elevator’s doors had closed on her.

“That was all Effie.” Haymitch muttered.

He tried to prepare the boy for the inevitable loss but Peeta wouldn’t see reason, insisting on bringing the kids to the living-room and listing their skills as if it would help. Haymitch didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to get to know them, didn’t want to hear about their hobbies and what they liked to do in their spare time because, too soon, they would become two more ghosts to add to his nightmares.

At long last, Haymitch reached the end of his tether and stormed out to seek the safe haven that was supposed to be their apartment. Effie was home, getting ready for a party no doubt, and she frowned when she saw the state he was in.

“They’re no victors.” she declared. He didn’t ask her how she knew. She had seen the Reaping and the Parade and she had become just as good as he was at determining who would live and who would die. 

“Nope.” he snorted, making the _p_ pop.

“Peeta is having a hard time understanding that.” she surmised.

He sighed and leaned against their bedroom’s doorframe, rubbing his face. “I can’t do this without you. Alys already _fucked_ _off_ to whenever, there’s paperwork I haven’t filled in thirteen years and how the _fuck_ do I coach those kids to act more… _proper_?”

That was _her_ thing. She did the attitude coaching and he worked with them on the interview content – when he even _bothered_ to do that much. Effie had been the one shouldering most of the mentor responsibilities for more than a decade and without her…

“I will help you with sponsors.” she promised. “And you can probably get Peeta to do the paperwork, he has a better handwriting anyway.” He barely smirked at her teasing, already too tired of the whole thing. “As for the coaching… I will have a talk with Alys.”

She was in front of him suddenly, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck, and the tension slowly left his shoulders.

“What would I do without you?” he asked, more sincerely than he had meant to.

“Let’s _never_ find out, shall we?” she grinned, pressing a kiss against his lips.

Effie wasn’t officially part of the team though and it made her helping difficult. She wasn’t allowed in the penthouse or backstage and thus was limited to areas open to sponsors. She helped him get a couple of pledges but, on other fronts, it was all a total disaster.

There was a real global _disorganized_ feel to that season. With so many new escorts and almost none of the usual mentors, it was chaos. Even Gamemakers seemed at a loss. Plutarch was running everywhere all the time, trailed by his brand new assistant – Haymitch wasn’t sure what had happened to Fulvia Cardew, she had simply… _vanished._

The Quell had been very successful, it was always difficult to design Games that would please the audience after a particularly good year. As it was, Haymitch was asked to attend far too many parties and events. They showed him off to appease the public’s lack of interest in the new tributes and to distract them from the numerous blunders committed by the new staff.

The arrangement suited him. At least while he was being busy being herded from one party to the next, often with Effie on his arm, he wasn’t doing the hopeless mentoring Peeta had taken upon himself.

Haymitch told him times and times again not to get attached. He had been there, he had done that.

Effie _also_ tried to warn the boy and it all fell on deaf ears.

The kids didn’t last two minutes. They were amongst the first to die during the bloodbath.

Haymitch barely flinched, barely closed his eyes when it happened.

Peeta downed half a bottle and then declared he was going home with the coffins despite Haymitch’s awkward invitation to come and stay with them at the country house for a few days.

The boy was gone before the Games had even properly started. Haymitch moved out of the penthouse and back to their place. It didn’t save him from having to show up at parties, events and shows but at least, at home, he wasn’t forced to look his failures in the face.

It was hell to remain sober.

Having to face the Games without the comfortable friendship of his fellow mentors, going through the nightmares every night, waking up out of breath and fists flinging around to hit invisible enemies… The ghosts he could see so plainly even when he was awake, the ghosts telling him he should be dead too, the ghosts accusing him of being responsible for their deaths… He had lost count of the number of times he had cried into Effie’s shoulder like the pathetic weak man he had become by the time they had crowned a new victor.

Worst thing was… Nobody really cared about the fifteen year-old girl from One.

Watching their favorite victors battle to the death had been much more entertaining than watching a bunch of kids kill each other. Haymitch was afraid of what the Gamemakers would invent to compensate the following year.

He was right to be concerned because the Seventy-seventh Hunger Games were ruthless. The arena was a deadly trap, the mutts were cruel and the audience loved it all. Twelve’s tributes lasted five and fifteen minutes respectively. Not bad all things considered but there was no explaining that to the rest of his team.

By the end of the first day, Peeta had left for Twelve and Alys told Haymitch she was quitting.

Plutarch promised to find him a good escort, not one of the silly birds that kept coming and going because victors complained they couldn’t do their job properly. His next escort was a former model who liked to trail proprietary hands on him and who figured herself to be the next Effie Trinket – in the Games and in his bed.

No need to say she only lasted one year.

He never really found out what happened between her and his wife but Effie must have made things _very_ clear _very_ fast. One day, he watched her follow the woman in the ladies and when they came out, Twelve was lacking an escort again. Even Peeta cracked a smile at that.

For the Seventy-ninth Hunger Games, Effie surprised them all by becoming their new stylist.

“I am tired of not being allowed backstage.” she snapped at him one night, smearing cream all over her hands, glaring at him in the mirror of her dressing table. “I _am_ part of the team. I _never stopped_ being part of the team. I might as well have an official position.”

He didn’t mention that coming back as a stylist after having been an escort seemed a little desperate and that she was sure to face some mocking comments for it.

Mocking comments were nothing she wasn’t used to nowadays anyway.

They had been _officially_ together for four years at that point and since they were showing no signs of separating soon – although there had _been_ quite a few rumors because of that stupid escort the previous year – what had, at first, been dubbed a delightful forbidden romance was now becoming an eccentricity.

They were still popular but they were old news now. An old couple.

Haymitch liked it better that way truth be told. It meant less people snooping into their private affairs.

“It’s not a good idea.” he insisted from where he was lying on their bed, listening to the faint honking of the geese outside. The gaggle was big now, mostly because she kept gifting him with another goose to cheer him up every time he felt low. It had become habits for him to go down to the pen one morning and find a new bird with a fancy pink bow around its neck, signaling it was new and a present. “You _know_ it’s _not_.”

“And why not?” she retorted, turning around to glare at him more easily, her lips pursed and her head tilted to the side like always when she was annoyed. “I have _never_ been this popular. I am _the_ stylist _en vogue_. Why, if they knew I planned to work for the Games, _every_ District team would be after me…”

“Cause you’re _out_.” he growled. “You’re _fucking_ out. Stay that way. If _I_ could…”

“I have _never_ been _out.”_ she scoffed. “I do not think anyone ever leaves the Games. Do you?”

There was no good answer to that, so he sighed and kept his peace. It was selfish too. He knew she was too bossy for her own good and would never be able to stick to the clothes department.

They never managed to keep an escort more than one year after that. It was well-known that Effie Trinket was impossible to work with when the Games were concerned and that, because she was Haymitch’s lover, she was given free reigns over Twelve’s floor. She might not have _officially_ been their escort but she certainly acted the part. She always publicly denied and was smart enough to never get caught undermining an official escort’s authority but everyone who counted knew better.

It was a relief to have Effie back and Haymitch counted his blessings where he could find them.

Peeta worried him.

He was distant and sullen and the path the boy was walking on was such a familiar one for Haymitch that he _tried_ to talk to him a few times. Effie tried too. There was no reaching him. Phone calls between them became far and few in-between until they more or less stopped. It hurt Effie to be pushed away like that, he knew, but he didn’t force the boy to remain in contact, understanding too well he needed his own space to grieve. Prim – who still called them from time to time – kept him on the straight and narrow at home anyway.

Rumors of another rebellion started arising around the eighty-first Hunger Games. Haymitch was picked up by a car at their house one morning and spent a whole week going over possible rebel cells in different Districts with Plutarch. They found one mostly composed of teenagers. Everything else seemed to be shadows. When he came back home, his face grim, Effie took one look at him and ran him a bath.

She didn’t ask but he told her everything anyway.

He was grateful for her, grateful for the life they had managed to build. He might have not been sure in the beginning but he was now. The house might have been big and it might have been very different from everything he had ever expected but it was their home and it was a safe haven from the rest of his life.

When they were there together, they managed to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

They often argued, sometimes to the point of shouting horrors at each other and slamming doors, but when it came down to it, they also always made-up. They had a routine. They had habits. They were growing old, as Effie often joked, and it was _amazing_.

Haymitch didn’t fit in with the other victors anymore. The old ones were always a bit wary around him despite their claims that they wouldn’t have acted differently during the Third Quell – with the exception of Alina and Lyme who were always friendly – and the younger ones were simply too… _young_. He didn’t feel like playing the old mentor anymore, he didn’t feel like taking them under his wing like he had done for Finnick or Johanna and he was uncomfortable with the way most of them looked up at him like he was the ultimate role model. He was simply happy that the spotlight was slowly but surely moving away from him and onto the younger ones, leaving him free not to attend every party and boring event.

The Capitol could keep the parties, he liked growing old with Effie in their little corner of the world better.

The rumors wouldn’t die though.

They were _always_ there, like whispers on the wind. Snow was getting restless, reaching levels of paranoia yet unseen. Personally, Haymitch thought the President was going mad, that all this blood coughing had finally reached the brain.

He lost count of the numbers of times he was ordered to the city between the eighty-second and the eighty-third Hunger Games, to chase rebels they had no hope of catching. If they were there at all, they were well hidden.

“Do you think it’s true?” Effie asked him one night, in a murmur, as they lay staring at the ceiling. “Is there another rebellion in the work somewhere?”

Sleepless nights were nothing new to them. She was worried about her new upcoming collection and he was brooding over Snow threatening to burn his whole house down to the ground with Effie in it if he didn’t produce the rebels he wanted. It had taken all of Plutarch’s diplomatic skills to prevent a disaster.

Mostly, Haymitch wasn’t really worried. Every time he saw the President lately, it became more and more obvious that he was three seconds away from kicking the bucket. The government was good at keeping up the pretence but it was the men shadowing him everywhere that held Haymitch’s attention now. _They_ were the real danger, he had decided months ago, and as long as _they_ were satisfied he was working for the Capitol, his family was safe.

“I don’t know.” he offered honestly.

He wanted to say it would be a good thing but, at the same time, he was too aware of what it would mean for them. They weren’t the good guys. Worse, they were the _bad_ guys and he didn’t have much hope for their chances if rebels took over.

Effie rolled over and snuggled against his side. He buried his hand in her hair and rested his cheek against her forehead.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that, right?” he mumbled, trapped in one of those gloomy moods he could never really shake off. He had known her almost two decades, there were not many reasons to be self-conscious about his feelings anymore.

“I love you.” she muttered in answer, clearly drifting off.

“Still?” he teased.

“Always.” she chuckled, pressing a sleepy kiss against his shoulder.

The dead thing that was his heart clenched. Sometimes – _often_ _–_ he mused she was the only thing keeping him alive.

President Snow died a little after the Eighty-Third Hunger Games. His barely nineteen year-old granddaughter was appointed as the next President within forty-eight hours.

Haymitch watched the national funerals from the comfort of his living-room, Effie curled up next to him. He tried to feel glad about it but all he felt was a void. There was no sweetness to a revenge served too late. He thought about his mother, his brother and his girlfriend – whose faces had long been erased by time – and about Katniss. He wondered it that made it a bit even. He concluded that it didn’t.

_Effie_ was cheerful. He didn’t have the courage to ask if it was because she was glad the tyrant was finally dead or because his granddaughter was wearing an exclusive dress from her private collection and that meant not only more money but more fame to come.

It was only to be expected but Ilirya Snow wasn’t her grandfather. She was a silly girl, a puppet whose strings were held tight by advisors and secretaries of states. They managed to keep it up for almost two years.

By the time the Eighty-five Hunger Games was about to roll around, everything was ready to collapse.

Rumors of a possible rebellion grew so loud that even Capitol citizens couldn’t ignore them. The city was restless, the talks about unrest in the Districts were on every lips, common things in the city like food or fabrics became difficult to find. Haymitch didn’t have time to let the looming ten years anniversary of the Quell be daunting, he was too worried over what the government was keeping from them, not stupid enough to believe the _“everything is alright”_ line they kept feeding them on TV.

His calls wouldn’t get through to Twelve.

The same went for Eight and every victor he tried to get in touch with.

The Capitol had used him to hunt and capture rebels for ten years and now that he actually wanted to be brought in on what was going on, he was shut out. The government was tearing itself apart, according to Plutarch, they were all stabbing themselves in the back trying to get on top and the whole pyramid was crumbling.

With every passing day, he felt the dread increase, certain the rebels were marching on the Capitol right then and that nobody was telling them. Effie stopped going to work on his request, she dismissed their staff, and mostly trailed after him all around the house while he tried to make sense of what was going on. His guts were screaming at him that it wasn’t good, not good at all. He withdrew as much cash as he could from their bank accounts in case they needed it later on.

He started planning escape routes. They went over them every night until Effie could recite them in her sleep. She was terrified, he could see, but he wanted her _prepared_.

He had thought they would have more time.

But he wasn’t really surprised when the estate’s gates blew up one morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ten years went by and Snow is finally dead... What did you think of everything? One chapter left and we part ways! Let me know your thoughts!


	60. Until The Very End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at last! The last chapter of the angst story to kill all angst stories! I’m a bit sad to see this one go... There was a lot of controversy about it (mainly on AO3) but writing it was a guilty pleasure of mine and it was a real pleasure to explore something dark and try to stay true to it. It’s also the first complicated banner I ever did for a story!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this long ride with me through this dark au and I hope you enjoy this last chapter! Please let me know your thoughts as you know I live for feedback!

Haymitch had dragged her halfway up the stairs before she had stopped screaming in alarm at the engine noises and the orders rebels shouted to each other.

They heard the front door being kicked down further down the house and Haymitch cursed under his breath and pushed her in the library’s direction.

“Go.” he told her. “You know what to do.”

She froze, her eyes wild, when she understood what he meant. “I am _not_ leaving without you.”

“Sure, you are.” he countered, glancing over his shoulder because _they didn’t have time_ for this. “You always were. Come on, sweetheart…”

It was him they would really be after. The traitor victor. And they would snatch her too if they could catch her because she was his lover and had worked for the Games for more than half her life but they might not chase after her if they got him first.

“Haymitch.” she growled, her eyes hardening.

He kissed her hard, slipping the golden bangle off his wrist and forcing it on hers while she was distracted. If he kept it with him, it would only get lost. “You go through the library’s secret passage. You get to the woods. You grab the money and you get as far away from the city as you can. Lay low. You know what to do.”

“I am not…” she argued.

“It’s not open to discussion.” he cut her off. “The last ten years… I did everything to keep you alive, sweetheart. Ain’t going to stop now. So, you go. If you love me, _you go_.”

“That’s not fair.” she whispered, her eyes darting over her shoulder in fright when she heard the echoes of boots on the stairs. “ _I hate you!_ Why would you do this? Why would you…”

“Because I love you.” he interrupted again. “And if you do too, you’re gonna do as I say. I wanna know you’re safe. I wanna know you’re alive out there. Come on, Princess. We had ten years, it was a good run.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “The best.”

“The best.” he agreed, coiling his hand around her nape and pulling her into a hard kiss. The last one. It was maybe worse now than it had been ten years earlier.

He pushed her away, turned around and went to meet the rebels, hands raised over his head, hoping it would be enough not to get him shot.

The squad of soldiers in black that had just reached the landing seemed surprised and even a little bit suspicious of his easy surrender.

“In the name of the free government of Panem, you are under arrest.” one of them spat, his gun never aiming away from his chest.

“Free government of Panem…” he repeated. “That’s a mouthful.”

Still, he didn’t resist when they grabbed him and tied his hands behind his back. He hated being tied up. He hated it _so much._ They dragged him to the lobby and left him to stand there under guard while he listened to them destroying his house… He heard broken glass, broken furniture… He was sure it would be properly ransacked once they would be done? Had Effie been wearing her sapphires? They would be lost now…

“The house’s clear.” one of the soldiers told the leader.

“What about Effie Trinket?” the man in charge answered.

“We didn’t find anyone else.”

And Haymitch breathed a little bit easier.

He refused to tell them where she could be.

“I don’t know.” he kept repeating. It didn’t matter how many punches to the stomach he got for it. He was almost joyful when he uttered the lie. “ _I don’t know._ ”

She would survive and that was all that mattered.

Eventually, they gave up and tossed him in the back of a truck where a few other people were waiting, just as tied up as he was. A couple of them had been shot in the leg or the shoulder, a few had been beaten worse than him… The ones who had been clever enough not to try to flee or resist sat there with a dazed frightened look in their eyes.

He knew them all by names but no greetings were exchanged.

He had nothing to say to the Gamemakers, escorts and stylist crammed in there and he was sure they had nothing to say to him. He tried to catch a last look of the house he had lived in for the last ten years, where he had been _happy_ …

They were taken to a grey building that could only be a prison where they were told to strip and put on a white prisoner uniform under the vigilant watch of a few soldiers. The Capitols all complained about privacy and changing in front of other people, screaming in fright when the rebels answered their protestations with fists and kicks.

Haymitch didn’t bother trying to talk it out and was left alone.

He had been through worse than being forced to get naked in public.

The cell he was led to wasn’t as bad as he had feared it would be. It was small but clean with a narrow bed, a toilet and a sink. Sure, the bars made it impossible for him to hide what he was doing from anyone and he had an open view of what his neighbors were up to. But there again, it wasn’t the worst he had been through.

He sat on the bed and waited for his turn, watching the Gamemakers being taken away to be interrogated one after the other and coming back worse for the wear. He heard whispered tales of forced confessions they had signed under duress, of requests for lawyers being denied, of how outrageous being treated like that was… Those people didn’t seem to understand they were on the losing side.

He was glad Effie had been spared that indignity, though.

When it was his turn, they escorted him to a room that was empty saved from a chair they shoved him on and a steel table riveted to the floor. There was no need to force him to sign anything.

He confessed to it all and it was freeing.

_Had he been part of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games’ rebellion?_ Yes.

_Had he betrayed the rebels?_ Yes.

_To the best of his knowledge who was responsible for the failure of that rebellion?_ Coin.

_Had he helped the Capitol track and capture known rebel cells?_ Yes.

_Had he been under duress at the time?_

He hesitated at that last question. But eventually answered that he had been given a choice – which was true, he could have sacrificed his loved ones and done the right thing – and he had chosen in full knowledge of the facts.

His readiness to own up to his actions didn’t save him from an angry beating but he barely felt the sticks they hit him with. He barely felt anything. He was finally seeing the light at the end of a very long road and it made him feel detached.

Soon, it would be over and he would be free.

He wasn’t sure how many days he spent in that cell, listening to the sobbing and pleading of the other detainees. They all swore they weren’t responsible or tried to bargain for their lives… A few of them seemed to have understood that it was useless.

It wasn’t long before a rumor started going around that the rebels were planning on executing them all. Haymitch wasn’t surprised. He almost welcomed it.

And when soldiers came into his cells and dragged him down the corridors to the same room he had signed his confession in, he thought that maybe it was it. Maybe he was done.

At least until he spotted Peeta pacing around the room. His first instinct was to worry that they had somehow arrested him too but the fine clothes and the air of authority around him made that probability very thin. The younger man dismissed his escort with a nod and it confirmed every suspicions Haymitch had been harboring for months now.

Peeta was involved in that rebellion.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, taking in the obvious differences from the last time they had seen each other. The bruises on Haymitch’s face, the way the boy carried himself… No, not a boy anymore. He hadn’t been a boy in a long time.

“Still wearing it, I see.” Haymitch eventually said, nodding at the golden pin on the lapel of Peeta’s jacket.

The mockingjay looked a little worse for the wear, the gold a little tainted. It was fitting given that it had once been a symbol of unity for their team.

“She would have loved to see what is happening.” Peeta answered with a small shrug. A sad smile floated on his lips and Haymitch wondered if he still loved her as strongly as he used to or if the younger victor was just clinging to the embellished memories to go on. Haymitch had been there. For twenty-five years he had been there. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come before. There were a lot of things to do and I was trapped in Four for a while…”

Haymitch dismissed that with a shrug of his own and took the chair, trying to remember the last time he had had a _real_ conversation with his former tribute. A conversation that didn’t revolve around how _fucked_ up Twelve’s chances were that year or what the weather was like.

“It’s nice of you to visit.” he offered. “How’s Prim? She’s alright, yeah?”

“Oh, yes!” Peeta grinned with obvious pride. “She’s with the medic team. Saving the world one person at a time, you know.”

“Sounds like my girl.” he smirked with fondness. He was a little sorry he wouldn’t get to talk to the kid one last time – if a twenty-three years old could still be called a kid. “You tell her she makes an old man proud, yeah? Tell her… I don’t know, I hate goodbyes. You’ll think of something nice…”

“If I have my say, there won’t _be_ a goodbye.” Peeta sighed. “I read the confession you signed. It’s rubbish. Why didn’t you tell them everything? I had the road _paved_ for you, Haymitch. I told them everything. You just had to…”

“I told the truth.” he growled. “Don’t start making excuses for me. I did everything they accused me of. I’m a murderer and…”

“And you’re willing to bring Effie down with you?” the younger man cut him off.

Cold dread ran down his spine and curled in his belly. “Effie’s gone and I don’t know where she is.”

If this was a trick to make him tell them… He had heard the guards talking. The rebels wanted everyone who had ever been involved in the Games to be _exterminated_.

“Effie surrendered herself to a rebel compound in One once she learned there would be trials and certain executions .” Peeta told him quietly. “She’s been held in a detention facility for the past two days.”

“You’re lying.” he accused. But even as he said that, he closed his eyes.

“She asked me to tell you she knows you will be angry with her decision but that what she said on the roof all that time ago still stands.” his former tribute offered. “She also said you would understand.”

_Tough luck because if you die, I die. Don’t you dare think I wouldn’t. If you kill yourself, I will do the very same thing. Is that what you want?_

He couldn’t live without her because she was the only thing keeping him afloat. And she had always claimed the reverse was true.

They had gone from toxic to co-dependent.

“Can you help her?” he heard himself ask in a soft desperate tone. Did Peeta have enough weight to do that? How important was he to this rebellion?

“Well, _she_ didn’t sign any confession so it’s making my life easier.” the younger victor joked. It fell flat. “She also forbade me to do anything to help her until _you_ are out of the woods. She seems to think it is the only way you will do the clever thing and stop trying to play the martyr.”

“I’m no martyr, boy.” he growled, angry both at him and at Effie for being so stupid.

“Good.” Peeta approved. “Because I have arranged for your trial to be a private one and General Valus will preside himself.”

“Who’s that?” he frowned.

“Only the leader of the rebellion.” the other victor replied. “And hopefully our next President once we can organize elections.” Haymitch listened to how the guy had apparently formed a coup, killed Coin and taken over in Thirteen and then almost single-handedly started another revolution. Peeta was clearly in awe of the man and thought he had hung the moon. “He is a good man and a fair one. All you have to do is tell the truth, Haymitch. The whole truth.”

He let that sink and then shook his head. “Look, all I care about is Effie. Get her out of there. You know she’s a good person. You know…”

“Effie’s trial won’t be any time soon and I made sure she was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.” Peeta countered. “We have to worry about you first.”

“I’m not important.” he dismissed. “I just want Effie…”

“You’re every bit as important as Effie.” the younger man snapped. “Don’t you get that? I’m not going to watch you die, Haymitch. I’m _not_. _Either_ of you. So, shut up and do what I say. You will tell them the whole truth. You will tell them you were trying to keep us all alive, that they were threatening you.”

“Peeta…” he sighed.

“You’re not in charge anymore.” Peeta cut him off. “You want Effie to survive? You save your own ass so you can testify at her trial. That’s how we get her out of this mess.”

And _damn her_ for having thought of that too.

Always trying to force him to stay alive.

So, for her, he did what the boy had asked.

When the time came, he put on the suit Peeta brought him and he sat in an interrogation room that had three tables pushed together and he faced the three men that would decide his fate. The one sitting in the middle had the unmistakable military attitude that marked him as the general Peeta liked so much.

Haymitch couldn’t get a good read on the guy. The soldier was too good at keeping a straight face.

A list of his alleged crimes was read and there was not a single one he could refute. He had collaborated with the enemy. He had helped capture rebels and had been paid for it too. He had betrayed the original rebellion.

Peeta talked for him, presenting the story of his life in such a way that Haymitch felt pathetic and weak. When time came for him to explain himself, _in his own words_ , all he could think about was the missing bangle on his wrist and the wife he had never been able to publicly acknowledge.

So he told them everything in a flat voice, without passion or anger. Flat and detached and so, so _tired_.

And when he was done, when Peeta was done pleading his case again, they waited in silence in the hallway, guarded by soldiers who didn’t spare them a glance.

“Please, whatever happens…” Haymitch mumbled once they were called back inside. “Whatever she says… Save her.”

Peeta nodded once.

He felt relieved when he stepped back in what had been his courtroom. One way or another, it was ending now.

He had expecting everything from immediate execution to a life sentence.

What he hadn’t been expecting was for him to be effectively exiled by being placed on house arrest for the rest of his life.

It was better than prison.

At least if Effie was eventually allowed to come and join him.

They didn’t waste any time in getting out of there and back to the estate he had lived in for the last ten years. A fence had been put in place to clearly mark the perimeter and guards were regularly patrolling it. The gardens were a mess, the geese were missing and the inside of the house had been turned upside down. He didn’t dare check if they had found the secret passage that led to the woods. Not yet.

“Home sweet home.” he muttered to himself as he walked into a far too big empty house.

It was almost like being back in Twelve.

Peeta visited him regularly, keeping him supplied with cigarettes and news of the outside world that were more accurate than what he could see on TV. Prim had applied for a right to visit him but it hadn’t been granted yet.

It took _weeks_ before it was Effie’s turn to stand on trial and, by then, it didn’t look good. Haymitch could count on one hand the people who hadn’t been executed and on two fingers those who had been released.

He was exceptionally allowed out of the house to testify at her trial, whatever good it would do her given their personal relationship and his own sentencing. She looked much older sitting in the accused booth, her blond hair tied up in a simple bun, pale in her navy blue suit. Their eyes met as soon as he was introduced in the courtroom and he wasn’t able to look away all the time he spoke.

When it was time for him to step down so Peeta could take his place, he found himself rooted to the spot.

He wanted to run to her, hold her and never let go.

Walking out of the room, right to the car and back to the estate was the hardest thing he had ever done. Leaving her… He was out of practice at leaving her.

He paced in front of the house, chain-smoking, waiting for news… Peeta and Prim would call once they knew. His former tribute had promised as much.

He heard the car’s engine, heard the gates creaking open once the guards had granted passage, and his heart sunk in his chest. If it had been good they would have called at once. If they wanted to tell him in person…

He couldn’t live without her.

That was a fact. It was decided even before the question even arose.

If they had killed her…

The car came to a stop a few feet away from him and he stared at the tainted-window, heart beating hard in his chest, wondering how he was going to do it… No more sleeping pills available but he could find another way. He could be creative. He was nothing if creative…

The driver’s door opened first and Peeta stepped out. Their eyes met but before he could call out to him, ask him what the _fuck_ was going on, the back door of the car opened and…

They were far too old for that sort of dramatic reunion.

And yet before he understood what was going on he had tossed the cigarette and he was running. Effie met him halfway though, throwing herself in his arms without a moment of hesitation.

“You’re an idiot.” he accused even as he planted a kiss on her lips. “You’re a _fucking_ idiot.”

She laughed in the middle of the kiss, tears rolling down her cheeks, her arms looped so tight around his neck. “You started it. You should have come with me.”

“Turning yourself in?” he insisted, kissing her again just because he could. “ _Seriously_?”

“And what did _you_ do?” she retorted, burying her face in his neck. “God, Haymitch, I was so afraid I would never see you again…”

He closed his eyes and pressed his nose against her hair. “They released you, then? You’re free?”

“Not exactly.” she whispered. “I bargained for… I knew I wouldn’t escape without at least some years of prison, that it was the optimistic outcome so… I made a bargain. A lifetime of house arrest in our home did not sound so bad compared to other possible scenarios.”

He drew back a little and frowned at her. “You’re trapped here too?” He looked behind her to Peeta who was leaning against the hood of the car, hands in his pockets. The boy nodded once, his face a bit grim as if he had hoped for a better option. “You could have run, sweetheart.” he sighed. “You could have…”

“What is the point of running without you?” she dismissed with a bright smile. “I made a promise over an old malfunctioning toaster and I intend to keep it until the very end.”

He brushed his thumb against her finger. The iris shaped ring was missing.

In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter.

“Until the very end.” he repeated, breathing the words out so she would be the only one to hear them.

“That’s the spirit, darling.” she grinned before kissing him again.

She wasn’t pleased with the state the house was in and he wasn’t surprised she declared they would start cleaning it the very next morning. He couldn’t bear to leave her side for a second. He barely noticed when Peeta left them to their exile, too busy watching her, touching her, making sure she wasn’t going anywhere…

When he stepped out of the bathroom that night and couldn’t find her anywhere, he panicked, half certain he had dreamed the whole thing and that she was lost to him or worse… He ended up sitting on their bed, his head in his hands, staring at the blue covers and wondering at which point he had started losing his mind.

He startled badly when she walked in the room and could only stare as she discarded the sweater she had clearly borrowed from him, leaving her in pajamas bottom and a frilly tank top.

“Where the _fuck_ were you?” he scowled. “I’ve looked for you _everywhere_. I…”

“I went to retrieve something.” she cut him off, crawling on the bed to sit at his side.

She was beaming. She hadn’t stopped beaming ever since she had climbed out of that car and he wondered if she really realized that they were in prison. A nice one, granted, one they loved. But a prison nonetheless. He was about to confront her when she opened her hand to show him.

“How?” he scoffed in disbelief when he saw the golden bangle and the iris shaped ring on her palm.

“I knew if I was arrested…” she whispered, losing her cheerfulness for a moment. “I did not want to risk losing them so I hid them in the passage.” She gently took his hand and slipped the bangle back around his wrist, where it belonged. “I am not an idiot, Haymitch. I know this is not ideal. But… I do not care if you are to be the only face I see until I die. I will take a lifetime of house arrest with you over spending the rest of my life alone in a heartbeat. I would do it again. You are my husband and I love you and whatever the future holds, boredom or another trial, I want to face it with you.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, afraid maybe of what she would find there.

He knew it wasn’t about a fear of her feelings not being reciprocated, they had long been past that… But perhaps she was afraid he didn’t want to share his prison with her.

And even as he thought that, he relaxed.

It could be worse.

He _deserved_ worse.

So, he would have to spend the rest of his life trapped in a huge estate, trapped with the woman he loved… Really not the worst fate.

“There’s no point to anything without you.” he acknowledged quietly. He fingered the iris shaped ring for a second before placing it back on her hand, hardly able to believe it had been a decade since the last time he had done that. “Let’s see the bright side… We’re gonna have a lot of time for sex.”

She laughed and it was the sweetest sound.

It always was the sweetest sound.

And if it was the last one he ever heard he would consider himself a lucky man. 

** The End **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are now! The end! No execution but no real freedom either... I tried to stay true to the general tone of the story and I firmly believed it would be unrealistic for them to just end up in Twelve like in canon. I almost had them executed to be honest but I couldn't resolve myself to it. So... House arrest. Old school. At least they are together and they can find the happiness in the sorrow. I think it kinda sums up this story anyway ;) 
> 
> Don’t miss my next stories! “The Greatest Show” (a 60s ish circus au I hope everyone will enjoy) as well as the “Katniss, the vampire slayer” series I talked about so much on tumblr. Both stories should be up on the second week of September (yeah, I know it’s a short hiatus for chaptered stories but I want April Showers finished so we can start again with a clean state and then I want a week off). 
> 
> Please, do let me know your thoughts on this chapter or on the story itself! What part did you like most? Will you miss it? Are you happy with the ending? Will I see you again for more stories?

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Hate it? Let me know!


End file.
